


2,913 miles

by gravelyhumerus, redflag, villainousunsub



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9177562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravelyhumerus/pseuds/gravelyhumerus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redflag/pseuds/redflag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainousunsub/pseuds/villainousunsub
Summary: Not ones to fall into the same boring summer routine, the gang decide to take a once in a life time trip. They travel from coast to coast, discovering who they are along the way. With only 2,913 miles between New York and California, they only wish their last summer together could last forever





	1. New York

**Author's Note:**

> After six months of inconsistent effort this behemoth of the fic is now yours to read. Its an idea that brought all three of us together and we are excited to share it with you. We're going to be updating regularly, since we have the whole thing written. Expect fluff, angst, tourism, gay and more gay. Enjoy and please tell us what you think!

John watches as the sun bounces on the screen of his phone as he launches it into the air, again and again. He tries to make it do complex flips as it flies, and wonders how high he can make it go before Harold scolds him.

At certain points in the free fall he can see the reflection of his friends, as they too are silently passing the midsummer afternoon.

Woosh, thud.

He catches a glimpse of Harold in the reflection of the glass; well, the back of his head that is. The other boy is seated behind John on his rolling chair, hunched over his computer as his bespeckled eyes scan the code that fills his screen. John has no idea what Harold’s doing, but if he was bothered to ask, he isn’t sure if he would understand it anyways.

Woosh, thud.

He sees the sunbeams pass through the windows this toss, and laughs at the illuminated dust particles as they float through the living room air. Harold told him that dust is mostly skin cells, and John notes morbidly that there’s probably many of his scattered throughout this familiar room.

Woosh, thud.

Same for the room’s other occupants, since the four teens have been steady fixtures in this household for this past year. They’ve left their fair share of marks on this place.

Woosh, thud.

He is then greeted with the sight of Bear, and corrects his previous statement in his mind. He would more accurately say that the five of them have past most of the last year in this room. Or six or seven if John counted all the others in their orbit.

Woosh, thud.

John then gets a clear image of Shaw’s heaving chest as she pushes herself up for another rep of push-ups. Years ago, if he had the same sight of a pretty girl his ears would be stinging with a blush, but not now. Any attraction that he might have had for Shaw had vanquished at the infamous post-game party of sophomore year. It was something that was always good for a smirk, at the right moment at least. Preferably when he wasn’t standing in arms reach.

Woosh, thud.

This time, John sees the corresponding hands that are creating the systematic tic tic tic of the typing that permeates the room. Root is busily tapping away at her laptop, her long body draped over the chair opposite from John’s couch. Her hands confidently swipe over the keys, but her eyes betray her, being drawn to her left, where Shaw is retying her hair, the movement causing her t-shirt to ride up further on her stomach as she sits on the fluffy carpet. John snorts at Roots attempt at subtlety, and Shaws blatant ignorance.

Woosh, thud.

He lets his eyes unfocus, the phone just flying and the motion repetitive and smooth at this point. The scene around him was how they spent most of the summer, and the past school year behind them. Without even looking, John can recall every detail of the room and every mannerism his friends have, due to the sheer number of hours they have spent here. Doing practically nothing, he had to admit.

Woosh, thud.

Well, that wasn't true, they all did something, just not that much at the house. John was on more sports teams he could count, and he kept the bullies in line (Shaw helped.) Although sometimes he was stopping her, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t a bully so it didn’t count. He kept people safe, and did pretty well for himself academically. He wasn’t one for reading the book, but Harold kept him informed well enough, and John could figure out most problems his teachers threw at him. He had, what some would call a “relationship” with Zoe Morgan. And of course that was doing something.

Woosh, thud.

And John knew he was surrounded with the most overachieving bunch the world could produce. He’d trust Shaw enough to pull a bullet out of his leg, and she hadn’t even started pre-med.

And he knew Harold and Root have probably hacked the FBI before. When he asked them that one time Root just winked.

Woosh, thud.

Root can’t actually wink, John knows, but her attempts are good enough.

Woosh, thud.

The tv drones on beside Root, so John can catch bit by bit of the film in between Shaw’s crunches. He watches as these two teens are laughing as they drive on some highway. A top-40 pop song replaces their voices, as what appears to be a drone-shot of the highway plays on the screen. It looks fun.

Woosh.

“What are we doing?” Thud. John sets the phone beside him and sits up.

“Fucking,” Shaw replies, an eye roll laced into her tone.

“I wish,” Root mutters.

When no one says anything Root continues: “Well, I’m hacking into the FBI again. I’m looking for the X-Files..”

“Actually, Miss Groves,” Harold says, “your computer went to sleep five minutes ago. I believe you have been watching Miss Shaw exercise.”

Root smirks.

“I mean,” John continues his prior statement, ignoring his friends, “we’ve got only about a month left of. And what has the usual gotten us? Nothing. Shaw’s going stir crazy.”

“Don’t put this on me. You’re the one throwing your phone in the air like we’re in some sort of 90s movie! And, really, the usual almost got you some fun times in the slammer. That’s something.”

Shaw leans back onto her hands and has a small smile on her face as she remembers them running from the sound of sirens.

“Hush, Miss Shaw. And Mr. Reese, I do have to admit, you are expressing your boredom, quite… Archetypically,” Harold notes.

“We could be doing more things that might end us up in jail,” Root says, “But goody-two-shoes here says we shouldn’t break the law.”

John can feel the other boy’s frown from across the room.

“Guys, look at us. We have a month of freedom left and we're here."

Finch looks a little bit offended, “At least we are together. Not in prison. Or worse.”

"We should do something. Something good this time."

Root pipes up, “As much as I hate to admit it, but your guard dog is right, Harold.”

“We’re stagnating,” Harold confirms, as Bear leans his head on his lap and wines. The poor service dog is calling for action.

“What do you expect us to do, John?” Shaw says, gesturing at the movie playing softly on the television. “Have some sort of indie teen adventure to end our friendship with a bang?”

“We could do precisely that.”

With those words, Harold spins his chair back around, as his mysterious and over dramatic nature dictates. He closes his window of code and pulls up a new browser window.

“I’ve been having similar thoughts,” Harold says, “The question is: how does one spend the summer after senior year? Work, I suppose, to save for post-secondary education. That seems a bit bland if you ask me.”

“I’ve never been up the Empire State Building,” Shaw jokes as she finishes her last sit up, barely seeming to be affected by the work out. She stands and sits in the corresponding chair next to

Root, placing her bare feet on the glass coffee table.

John joins Harold, pulling up a chair beside the table.

“I’ll add that to the list.”

“What list?”

Harold pushes away from his desk, and pulls his wheeling glass board out into the middle of the room. On it is a map, and various ideas written across the board.

“It’s just something I’ve been working on,” Harold says, “Subjects in which you have expressed interest, places intended for tourists, major landmarks...”

“Harold, is this a road trip?” John asks as he edges closer to the the adventure board.

“Possibly.”

“I’m in,” Shaw says and looks at Root who shrugs.

“It could be fun.”

//

Shaw walks her familiar route from her place down to Harold’s, savouring the feel of how her feet hit the concrete with each step. She’s been doing this often, especially this past month. Shaw finds herself trying to savour these simple familiar moments. It’s difficult for a person like Shaw, forcing a false sense of sentimentality. She’d rather live it, but worries that if she doesn’t try to remember the details, they’ll slip away as soon as she leaves New York.

So as she presses the four numbers into her friends apartment building door, she tries to remember the moment. The routine. The trip she’s taken countless times before.

She heaves the large backpack more securely onto her backpack as she makes for the elevator. She packed her stuff, just as Harold told her to. A good soldier, she remarks to herself. She hasn’t really thought about what they had planned. California feels so far away, she doesn’t think she really considered it somewhere attainable, somewhere real. Especially for Shaw. It’s so glamorous. So romantic. So not Shaw.

Shaw is New York. She is the grime that covers the underground tunnels, she is the harsh reality that comes with living in a big city, and most importantly, she is the rainy days that came out of nowhere and fall onto peoples lives. She is not sunshine and romance and California. So she never thought she’d be doing something that felt like something out of a b-list teen chick flick.

Not that she doesn’t enjoy those, but she wouldn’t dare admit that.

Maybe it was that hope that lead her to follow Harold’s packing list, and call her mom to say that she’s going to be away for awhile. Her mom didn’t care. Or cared too much? Shaw didn’t know but, as soon as she started making friends her Mom smiled more and stopped making that face with the drawn in brows. After that, whenever Shaw left the house or stayed over at Harold’s, she was allowed to go. Maybe her mom was just happy she was being normal.

She doesn’t knock on Harold’s door, but uses her key (John’s key, smoothly pocketed by Shaw one night, months ago), to enter the small living room. She’s greeted normally, and notes that surprisingly, everyone else seems as on board as Shaw is.

Root has two bags on the floor next to her chair, and John looks to be packing food in a cooler.

“So we’re serious?” John asks, in lieu of a greeting as Shaw joins them and Harold reenters the room.

“I am quite serious,” Harold says as he limps into the kitchen, kneeling by the dog bowl, and begins packing food into a large ziplock bag for Bear. Shaw wonders if he even asked his dad, or if the man was present enough to answer, either way. “I’ve been considering the prospect for some time. I could blame my youthful impulsiveness, but honestly I do believe it would be the best plan to leave soon. None of us have any serious responsibilities, and our time together is dwindling.”

“What are you saying, Finch, you want us to go tonight?”

“I’m down,” Shaw says, as she plops herself in the chair adjacent to Root (Shaw’s chair), and dropping her bag to the wood floor.

“And Root will follow where Shaw goes,” Harold continues, “There’s nothing holding us back.”

“Shaw has a job, so do I.”

“I got time off, and your boss loves you. Just ask. It’s not like you’re going to need it when we come back.”

“Yeah, why the cold feet, Johnny boy?” Root mocks, “Scared of a little adventure?”

“I’m not scared. Just cautious that we’re not being too hasty. Don’t want to have to give up as we hit Virginia.”

“Gonna miss Zoe?” Shaw sing-songs, drawing the e sound out and smirking as she joins Root in their jeering.

“Honestly John, it was one fun night at prom. Get over it,” Root continues, “I think Shaw has gotten more action from Zoe over the years. For a straight girl, Zoe is very gay.”

To his defense, Harold looks like he is valiantly trying to ignore them, but the widening of his eyes betrays him. This makes Shaw laugh as she remembers the story about how Harold walked in on Root necking with that pretty girl at the epic party at John’s place.

Harold clears his throat as he stands up, sealing the food and adding it to the Bear-bag, complete with various toys, bowls, and treats. Harold mutters: “It seems that everyone we know is not as straight as they appear.”

This raises another round of guffaws from Root and Shaw, and a choking sound from John, who chose that exact moment to sip some water.

“So,” Root says as she calms down, “What’s the plan?”

//

Root can’t believe they’re doing this. She really can’t believe that they’re in John’s truck, leaving New York City, bound for who knows where. And they decided on this mere hours ago. Sure, Harold has a good plan, and they really have nothing keeping them home, but fuck it’s absurd that they’re actually doing this.

She watches out her window, as the suburbia begins to fate into farmland. It’s weird to think that Root herself has barely been outside the city, let alone the state, since she first came to New York, and now she plans on doing a spur of the moment cross country road trip with her friends. Sure, she’s seen the country on tv and the internet, since, but living it again is something new. Being back out here, out of the protection of the city… she feels vulnerable again and she doesn’t like that at all.

She marvels at how far she can actually see, uninhibited by skyscrapers and industrialization. She watches as the sun begins to get lower in the sky, the light of it growing softer and more orange- shining a golden hue onto the fields surrounding their car. Root almost wants to take a photo to preserve this unique sight but shakes herself for her sentimentality.

A few more farms pass by as they speed into the countryside, and a large sign catches Root’s eyes. It reads: “Jesus Died for Your Sins!” All capitalized in messy painted letters across the side of a barn. She scoffs at it's sheer size and boldness; Root points, so Shaw could see too, earning a simple smirk, before the other girl goes back to her phone.

And that marks another thing that Root knows she’s going to have to deal with. Her never ending infatuation with the girl who she will be sharing a car with for the next month. Root knows she puts up a solid front, laced with sarcasm and sexuality. But she has to admit there are real feelings down there, however warped.

“What Shaw, not too worried about your sins?” Root mocks her friends silence.

“No,” Shaw mutters.

“Perfect.” Root leans forward, getting into Shaw’s space, putting her elbows onto Shaw’s legs and her jaw resting in her hands. “Wanna sin with me?”

“I feel like I am whenever I’m in your presence.”

“Oh you flatter me.”

Root leans back, returning to her window. She notices as the others begin to see the occasional sign about Jesus. Every time they see it for the next hour, they point them out. It becomes a game for them, who can see the most creative religious message on the side of the road.

“Jesus loves me,” John says seriously in his monotone voice from the front seat, not bothering to point because the message is clearly written on the bridge passing overhead.

They watch it go and then go back to looking at the road.

“Does simply an illustration of Jesus’ face count?” Harold asks a few minutes later, and they nod in response. He then points at a backyard fence.

“Are there rules, though?” Shaw asks, looking to Root. She thinks for a second, realizing this is quite an entertaining car game. She shrugs.

“I guess whoever sees the best one wins? Majority vote.”

They agree and continue, a few minutes passing between each sighting.

“I see one!” Says Harold, “It just says: Corinthians fifteen, uh, fifty six. I think. I don’t know what that means.”

“Well we can’t judge if you win or not, so look it up.”

Harold is already pulling out his phone as John says this, typing in the name and reading out the response.

“You get points for the sin,” Shaw says, making up rules as they go along.

“Why are there so many of these, anyways?” Harold asks. “Did the whole area collectively decide to illustrate their ideology along this one particular stretch of highway?”

They shrug, continuing the game sans explanation.

“That one just says ‘Jesus!’” Root says, seeing a large billboard on a hill out her window. “Nothing else, no context.”

“It’s just a reminder,” Shaw adds, “Just so you know he’s still there.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a long lull before they see their next one. Shaw sees it this time, entering the competition with: “God loves you.”

“That’s actually kind of nice,” John notes, as they drive away.

The distance between signs continues, and just as they think that they’ve passed them all, Shaw sees it. Her laughter barks out of her in a way that startles poor Bear, making him jump onto his feet.

“Guys I win,” Shaw says, pointing at a large red barn, way off to the left of the car. “Apparently God truly does hate gays.”

There is a chorus of laughter and expletives and Root begs them to pull over so that she can get a selfie with it. They just can’t believe the boldness of it and the confidence of the message.

They truly are outside of the liberal city of New York that they’re used to. So John obliges and pulls the truck onto the gravel. Root runs out, pulling her phone out from her pocket and taking various selfies in it.

“What is it that you say?” Harold asks, “Squad pic? Yes. That’s it. Let’s do a squad pic to commemorate the occasion.”

“You really sound like a robot sometimes,” Shaw says, poking him, but conceding to the humour of it. She grabs Harold’s phone, since it has the best camera, and sets it down with the timer going so that it’ll take a photo of all of them. She then runs back, and squats down between everyone with her hands in a praying position. The rest of them take up a customary position of pointing and various peace signs, looking serious as the camera beeps, warning them that the photo is being taken.

The camera takes the photo, and they relax out of their pose and laugh. Just as they begin rounding themselves up to get back into the car, they hear an angry yell coming from the barn, followed by the clamour of pounding feet. That sets a fire under their butts, as the yelling gets closer they sprint into the car, and John books it out of there, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Without even having the chance to buckle her seatbelt Root, turns in her seat and watches as an angry farmer shoots his shotgun into the air in a warning. His faint yelling is muffled by the squeals and frantic chatter in the car.

“Oh my god,” Shaw laughs, “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Holy shit,” Root agrees. They take a moment to just breathe and actually fully sit down in the car. Then Root looks at Harold, thankful that he had the mind to pick up his phone as they ran.

“Did the photo turn out okay?

Harold nods, the poor thing red from exertion and panting as he looks at the photo. It was captured mere seconds before the commotion. He shows it to them and after looking at it their hysteria turns into pure laughter. They can feel their relief coming off them in waves.

“So next time,” John says, weirdly calm as he buckles his seatbelt and slows the car back to a normal pace. “We don’t listen to Root’s bad ideas.”

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that barns with scary Jesus graffiti usually have scary Jesus farmers in them?”

They shrug and Root keeps Harold’s phone, sending the photo to herself and posting it on instagram, reiterating the story using lots of emojis to mimic Harold’s strange texting style. Minutes after she posts it, the photo has almost 20 likes and a few comments. A notable one is from user zoe101 which says, “I can’t believe you went on a crazy road trip without me :’( Don’t get yourselves killed!!”

After Root returns Harold’s phone, and they all finally calm down from that experience, the sun finally sets. This leaves the car plunged into a eery darkness, one rarely experienced as kids from the city that never sleeps. In the darkness, they turn on the radio so that it plays softly, and begin to relax into the movement of the car, all moving into their own worlds, reading or playing on their phones. John calmly drives, looking comfortable in his role of chauffeur for the night.


	2. Maryland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've decided to update every two days! Since we have completed the fic we likely wont variate from this pattern, but if you do have any ideas or suggestions please say so because we do aim to have another series of one-shots and drabbles that also take place in this universe.
> 
> Warnings for some ableism and nausea / throwing up. Let us know if any of you need any other specific warnings, we don't mind :-).

“I see a spot over there, John,” Shaw says, pointing up to her right.

“Do you think I’m blind or something,” he growls in response, “I can see it too.”

John pulls into the spot, located far away from the front gates. The parking lot is packed already, and they managed to get here a half an hour before it opens. With the distance to the entrance, they wonder if it will take Harold the full thirty minutes just to _walk_ to the gates.

“You sure you’re up for it Finch?” John asks, “I mean, you really can’t go on any rides.”

“I’m fine with the carousel and some of the easier coasters, Mr. Reese, don’t worry about me. I’ll enjoy the sun and the water rides.”

“So there’s actually a doggy daycare on premises?” John asks while finally parking the car.

“Indeed,” Harold responds, “It’s by the food court and has a nice field and a small wading pool for all the dogs to cool off in.”

As they begin to exit the car Shaw says, “It’s pure discrimination that Bear isn’t allowed in the lazy river, OR on the splash pad. God.”

Root yanks open the door and goes for the trunk, grabbing their refillable water bottles from the coolers and passing them around. She then retrieves her small backpack, filled with a small towel, a bathing suit and her wallet. She does this all before the rest of them even emerge from the car, and when they do they eye her jittery form and excited eyes.

“Root,” Harold says, “Have you actually been to an amusement park before?”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Nope. Why do you ask?”

“Because you seem more excited than Miss Shaw, and she and John love these places more than food.”

“Nah, Harold,” Shaw says, “I like this because it’s food _and_ adrenaline. Two of my favourite things.”

“I’m oh so excited,” Root tells Harold, sarcasm laced into her tone, but her eyes betray her. They seek out their first road trip adventure, as she stands on her toes to look over the sea of parked cars.

“What’s our game plan?” John asks.

“I mapped out all the good ones for us,” Shaw says, holding her phone up as proof, “And grandma ones for them.”

“Excuse me,” Harold looks insulted, “I am not a grandmother. Or a grand _father_ for that matter. I’m medically not allowed to actually go on those types of rides. I never liked them before hand, just so you know, I don’t really feel like I’m missing out on being _terrified_ for fun.”

“Me neither, Harry, I get sick on elevators, let alone looptie-loops,” Root says and Shaw snickers.

“So like I said,” Shaw says, “Cool ones for us, and the lame ones for them.”

“I’m in,” John says.

By now they’re all done packing their bags, and Harold is fitting bear with his little doggie backpack. Before he places his tube of sunscreen into the bag, he rubs a generous portion onto his own face, neck and arms, before putting a dab onto the bridge of Bears nose, where his hair won’t protect him from the harsh rays of the sun. He passes it to Root, then they wait until the whole group are fully covered. Harold glances up at Shaw just as she looks about to decline some for her own skin.

“What’s that look for?” Shaw asks him, “I don’t burn.”

“Your skin colour protects you from the burns, but not from the harmful effects of UV A and B,” Harold says, then looks pointedly at the tube in John’s stretched out hands, “You can still get skin cancer without looking like a lobster.”

Shaw yanks the tube, grumbling quietly.

“So what’s first on the cool kids list?” John asks, trying to ease the tension.

“That monstrosity,” Shaw says, pointing up to a large yellow and green one, that seems to tower over the entire park. It has one large drop, that looks to somehow be steeper than ninety degrees, followed by more twists and loops than should be legal. “I heard someone died on that thing. Heart attack.”

John doesn’t even look nervous, giving her a chuckle and a smirk to show he’s game. By this time they reach the main gates, they have to fork over almost two hundred dollars total just to _enter_ the place, and just as they think they’re getting through, after being searched for outside food-

The employee asks, “What’s the dog for?”

Harold is startled, “Pardon me?”

“Is he actually a service dog? Or do you just want special treatment for your _pet?”_ He looks down at Finch, peering over his glasses and scratching his neck -beard.

“I’m not required to show you any papers,” Finch replies, “My service dog is here for personal support.”

“For _what?”_ The employee seems to be having some sort of a power trip, laced with a generous dose of ableism.

“I was in an accident, I experienced spinal trauma. The state of New York assigned me a service dog,” Finch growls, “If you would kindly contact your manager, you will learn that there are no businesses that are exempt from being required to allow me and my service dog from accessing your facilities.”

Just as the acne-prone teen is about to open his mouth again, a manager shows up, asking, “What seems to be the problem?”

Finch explains his situation, and the manager waves them through only after a few minutes, saying: “Sorry about that,” while glaring at her employee, “do you need any special accommodations?”

“No, thank you,” Harold replies, “We already checked out your accessibility map online, and I think we are appropriately prepared.”

“Alright, enjoy the park!” She smiles, “if you have any more problems, please feel free to ask for assistance.”

Harold smiles, and they waive her off, trying to forget it all and move on to the actual park. They pass through the central garden, getting low-key harassed by random people in costumes, trying to get them to take photos with them, then selling them back to them at largely unrealistic prices. They escape, then John and Shaw run off to their first ride, leaving Harold and Root behind.

“I do believe that in our preoccupation with arriving at the park early, we might have missed breakfast. Would you like to accompany me for some coffee, Miss Groves?” Harold asks, walking towards the string of restaurants.

“I might enjoy some Starbucks scones once in awhile, sure.”

She texts Shaw with an update, and they enter the already bustling coffee shop. Harold orders some green tea (unfortunately not _sensha_ green tea, but it’s good enough), and a muffin, while Root chooses some sweetened and flavoured coffee that Shaw loves to roll her eyes at as well as the aforementioned scone. Harold also orders a cup of water for Bear, which the employee delights in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

They bring their meals out to the small patio, and sit down to enjoy their food and what looks to be the beginning of a fun day. They are currently in the middle of the park, next to a massive fountain and many restaurants on either side. The people who are already here are the teens and adults, walking around looking for food and trying to beat the lines. Harold read that the ride that Shaw and John are riding right now has lines that can be up to two hours long. Harold hopes they have a good plan because crowds don’t really appeal to any of them.

“I can’t believe how inaccessible this place is,” Root grumbles into her coffee, “The one ride you could go on, that isn’t designed for _children_ , has fucking magnetic fields that mess with my cochlear implant. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t mind,” Harold says, “I prefer water rides. They are much less… Sticky.”

For a while they talk about computers, about some of their ideas and projects and how boring their computing class in high school was. They jump topics a couple times, ending up focusing on the state of the world, politics and terrorism. You know, teen stuff.

//  


After they finish up their meal, they walk along the promenade, looking through the small shops of toys, souvenirs, and artists offering to draw caricatures. Root doesn’t particularly enjoy the feel of children brushing past her, and the loud laughter of people surrounding her. The smell really begins to get to her. She’s never really been to an amusement park, and the smells of snack food, metal, and dirty people really starts getting to her.

“When we’re in Washington DC,” Harold says to her, “I have a number of things planned.”

A couple of children interrupt him by petting Bear, something that his harness clearly says _not_ to do, and Harold has to subtly move away from them, escaping just as the children’s mother comes to scold them.

He continues, saying, “I was thinking… perhaps visiting some museums and national exhibits might be interesting. It will be a challenge to entertain all four of us at once, so I considered doing a sort of trade off. Today for John and Shaw, and a day for us.”

“I don’t think anyone will be keeping score,” Root points out.

“Oh of course not,” Harold says, “I just thought that we should begin on even footing.”

“So what museums?” Root asks, shooing away a vendor offering her a baseball cap.

“The Smithsonian, of course,” Harold responds, “The National Botanic Gardens and the International Spy Museum.”

“International Spy Museum?”

“Five star Yelp review,” Harold grins.  

Almost as if their day was just a story, and the author didn't feel like writing a lot of dialogue, John and Shaw meet up with them and yank them towards the midway.

It's a quick walk, and soon they're surrounded by games and the accompanying yells of bored teenagers urging them to spend money on rigged games for cheap toys. Harold steers them away from the first game they see, one where you throw ping pong balls into bowls of water to win goldfish, reminding them that they still have many miles in a car ahead of them. The second one on the strip is some sort of skee ball game, which all four of them join in on. Highest score wins and John gets to take home a frisbee for his efforts.

“I call a rematch,” Shaw grumbles, “I bet my balls were bigger than yours.”

Root snickers at the unintentional innuendo and Shaw rolls her eyes. Root has the mind of a teenaged boy, sometimes.

“Let's do the balloon game,” Shaw suggests, “let's see if your aim is as good as your balls.”

Shaw has to admit, Root’s humour might be growing on her.

“Oh my aim _and_ my balls are very good,” John says, winking at Shaw and earning a punch from her and a light blush from Harold.

They go to the balloon game, which has a series of small balloons pinned to a wall, and the goal of the game is to throw a dart, and pop as many as possible. The trick is, the balloons are only slightly inflated, so only a strong and precise throw will actually puncture the plastic.

John goes first, getting a set of five darts, he sets up his shot, aiming at the area with a cluster of targets, and throws. It manages to miss all of them and embeds itself into the wall with a thud. He throws the second with the same result.

“Come on Mr. Reese, you can do it,” Harold urges him, leaning on the podium with Bear panting lightly beside him. John sends him a quick glance and gulps, before steeling himself for his next shot. Shaw rolls her eyes at the encouragement, the two boys sound like it’s a matter of life and death, rather than pride.

He releases the dart and this time he is rewarded with a loud pop. He throws his last two with the same result. He turns around and preens at the smile that Harold gives him. He tugs on the collar of his light button up shirt and smirks at Shaw- a dare to do better.

When Shaw gets her darts, Root’s attention follows her every move. Shaw sets her feet apart, her knees slightly bent, in the same kind of stance that you would be in when rearing for a fist fight. Shaw draws her hand back and releases the dart straight into a balloon, popping it perfectly. She does the same with the next four of her darts, beating John.

Shaw turns slowly, revelling in her victory and smirking at John, who flips her the bird before looking around for another game, as Shaw collects her prize, which turns out to be her choice in blow up aliens. She chooses the iconic green one and proceeds to use it as a weapon against John, smacking him in the head with the aliens plastic legs rapidly as he flees to behind Harold.

A momentary truce is formed, but only because Shaw gets bored of trying to reach around Finch to get to John. She pulls back and keeps it out of reach from John, who might try to claim it as his own weapon.

“What should we name this guy?” Shaw holds it up for them to see its cartoonishly large eyes, nose slits, and eerie smile printed onto the plastic.

“Harold sounds like a name for an alien,” Root offers.

“No that would get confusing,” Shaw says, “We can’t have two aliens named Harold in the same car.”

“That is true,” Root giggles.

The rest of the morning is spent playing games, and hanging out. At one point, Shaw goes into competition with who appears to be a 13 year old boy on a spiderman-themed climbing competition. Its a rope with bars across it. At first it seems simple but it’s precarious and prone to tipping. It takes a solid effort of her core to get up to the top, but she prevailed and smacked the button with triumph before toppling over onto the ground. They cheer her on, clapping almost too enthusiastically as she wins a realistic snake toy, that she thwaps John with immediately.

Then they reach the shooting games, and the Mayhem Twins perk up. Surprisingly, Root does too but not for the same reason as the others. Harold watches as her eyes lit up as she sees a small teddy bear up at the top of the toy rack.

Shaw seems to notice too, giving Root a once over right before she starts, and asking the guy behind the counter, “what do I get when I win?”

He glances up and says, “Win once for the first row, twice for the second.”

Shaw’s face seems to say, ‘challenge accepted’ because she sets off, shooting the little pellets at the targets with precision and force that is impressive. The targets fly past, and she moves her entire body and hits a surprising amount of them, knocking them back. Even the employee raises his brows at her abilities. Root for one, is looking on, wide eyed at Shaw’s furrowed brow, smirk, and powerful body stance.

And of course, she wins twice, and presents Root with the bear, grunting at Root’s blush. Her face is proud, of course, and a little smug, but there’s something else, Harold notices. Something there when she gave Root the teddy. Root hugs it close with a stunned look on her face. Harold plans to regard this issue, and keep an eye on their behaviour.

“I don’t know about you guys,” John says, as they walk down the street, he pulls the blow up alien out of Shaw’s hand and holds it up. He wraps his arm around it as if it was a person and continues with, “but Neons and I are starving.”

“Neons? That’s the best alien name you can come up with?” Root asks him.

“I’m up for food!” Shaw shifts her backpack off her shoulders, preparing her wallet for the sharp depletion of money that is soon to arise.

“Didn’t we just get here?” Harold asks, looking at his watch, only to realize that it is actually 11:45, and they’ve been here for quite a while.

They return to the dining part of the park, and Reese and Shaw go forth to order as much food as they can stomach. They return with at least four burgers, a few hot dogs, fries, soda, and some candy and popcorn. Root and Finch acquire a significantly lower amount of food and sit with the others. Root admires Shaw as she digs into the burger, and shovels ketchup covered fries into her mouth between bites. Harold makes pitiable attempts at conversation, but gives up after Shaw and John’s feasting, and  Root’s ogling becomes too much for him. Eventually Shaw looks up from the remnants of her meal, glaring at Root for a moment before digging through her bag, and retrieving an apple for Root.

“Eat. You need more than a salad inside you,” she orders, “and stop staring at me.”

Shaw turns back to her food, finishing up the fries and gulping some of her soda, ignoring Root’s sexual joke about what _else_ she needs inside her.  

  
//  


“Come on, let’s go!” Shaw yells, crossing her arms as they stand in front of the short line up to a large, spinny ride named the Comet Spin. The sun beats down on them, hot on their skin. The sky is bright blue, with whips of clouds scattered across it. It’s early in the afternoon, and they’re going to lose their spot in line if he keeps dawdling.

“Shaw, we just ate, and you want to go on this thing! We’ll puke our guts out!”  

“What Reese, are you a chicken or something?” Shaw goads him. “Scared to have a little upset tummy?”

“I’m not,” he says calmly, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, and anyway maybe someone should stay back with Finch-”

“He has Bear, and Root. He’s fine, come on.”

“But-”

“I dare you.”

And with those words, John Reese steals himself and marches up to the gates, with a smug Shaw walking behind him. They walk through the gates, and follow the others into their spots. They get strapped into a cage, standing up. They have to hold the bars, and keep their feet planted to the ground, but as soon as the thing starts moving, the centrifugal force pushes them against the wall as they spin, and spin, and spin.

Shaw laughs at the sensation, at the world flying past her as she flies through the air, but the groans that come from John are certainly not the pleasurable kind.

“If you puke on me, I swear to god, Reese,” Shaw yells over the sound of the wind, “I will fucking disown you!”

“This was…” John replies through gritted teeth, “Your bad idea, Shaw!”

Shaw laughs at his green face, but sweats at the thought of getting barf on herself. She knows that if he throws up, she’ll throw up, and that won’t end well. But John’s a trouper, and he waits out the last few spins, before detangling himself from the restraints and sprinting towards the nearest garbage can, puking loudly in it.

From the distance, Shaw can laugh at him. Proudly gloating about her stomach of steel as they walk back towards Finch and Root with John trying to gulp down water to retain some of his dignity.

“Reese puked,” Shaw announces once they’re within a few feet of their friends, “It was epic.”

Root snickers, “Poor thing. Maybe they should rename this ride ‘The Vomit Spin,’ eh big lug?”

Reese grumbles and sits down beside Finch, still nursing his water bottle. Harold pats him on the back awkwardly.

“I think John’s done for the day,” Root says, “Did you do all the rides you wanted to?”

“Almost,” Shaw says, “ _I_ wanted to go on the fastest one as many times as we could in a row, but the lines were too long. If he’s better we should go later, before dinner. But for now, I’m good. What do you guys have in mind?”

“I was planning on having a nice, long, relaxing ride in the lazy river,” Harold says, “If you three would like to join me?”

“Lame,” Shaw says as she tips John’s water up so it splashes on his face, “Let’s go on the water rides, I’m hot.”

“You good by yourself then Finch?” Reese asks him, while mopping his face with his shirt. He stands up and hoists his backpack back onto his back.

“Of course, Mr. Reese. It will be nice to have some peace and quiet before the adventure. We have lots more to do.”

//  


After signing Bear into doggy daycare, they part ways to go into the change rooms, and Root feels a burning sensation of anxiety as her heart pulses faster. She hopes there will be stalls to change in but no, it’s one long room with two benches on either side. Perfect. Root feels a flush creep up her face because it’s just Shaw and her and they’re going to be naked and there’s no one else there. What if Shaw thinks she’s one of those lesbians who creep on other girls? What if she _is_ one of those lesbians who creep on other girls??

Root feels a little nauseous as she turns and rips off her shirt and undoes her bra and throws on her bathing suit as quickly as possible. She hears the shuffling of Shaw doing the same thing behind her. Root makes the mistake of looking up and she catches the sight of Shaw’s bare back in the mirror and her blush returns full force. She rips her eyes away as fast as she can, but not before she sees Shaw’s rippling muscles and the lovely curve of her spine.

Root shoves her clothes back into her drawstring backpack as fast as she can, and stumbles out of the change room, not waiting for Shaw to finish. She runs her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to calm her nerves. John and Harold join up with her, and Harold hands her the sunscreen, urging her to reapply.

When Shaw emerges a few seconds Root’s heart speeds up once again, and she curses herself because can’t she chill for like one second. Shaw has her hair back up in a ponytail, and her bathing suit reveals a delicious amount of skin. Shaw has swim shorts and what looks like a sports bra and for some reason, Shaw’s eyes seem to be looking at her as much as she’s looking at her.

Root tugs her towel tighter on her shoulders, she wonders if she looks bad and turns away, placing a dollar into the slot of the locker, unlocking it and shoving her phone and her wallet in. She then turns around to find John snickering and elbowing at Shaw, but feeling left out, Root doesn’t bother asking what’s going on.

“We’ll check in after a few rides, ok Harry?” Root asks, trying to engage again while they make use of the locker. He nods ok and limps off to the lazy river with a small smile on his face.

//  


After a few go’s on the giant waterslides, some together on one giant raft, and some singular where they raced to the bottom, they all meet up to hang out in the wave pool. It’s the first time they can actually all be together besides eating and playing games, a fact that Shaw feels a little good about. She felt weird about splitting up, just as they started their trip and she’s glad they’re together, swimming around and having fun as a unit.

She can spot Root and Harold from far away, both being the tallest ones in the shallow end who _don’t_ have a small child, and from Root’s swim cap. Now Shaw doesn’t want to judge but she swears most swim caps _are not_ rainbow, and Root must have sought that design out herself. It’s so incredibly dorky that Shaw has to take a moment. She decides to ignore it, because what’s she gonna do? Tell Root to take it off? It’s not _that_ bad. It might actually be a little cute. And it does allow Root to hang out with them and be able to hear them so its kinda a win-win.

And Root certainly makes up for the awkward rainbow pattern with her black one piece bathing suit, that somehow looks _good_ despite it being a one piece. It hugs her minimal curves in a nice way and her small boobs-

Shaw stops herself. She _can’t_ be thinking of Root’s boobs, that’s weird.

The waves carry her up and down, letting her feet touch the floor of the pool for a second before carrying her into the wave and moving her down again. She ignores John’s call for a race rematch and swims towards Root, and dragging her out into the deeper water. Root grins at her as they begin to tread water.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah,” Shaw says, finding her footing on the floor for a second, “I did.”

Suddenly, a larger wave knocks into Shaw’s back, propelling her forward, straight into Root. Root catches her, saving her from going right underwater but just as Shaw goes to move away she realizes how her hands are currently placed.

Right on Root’s boobs.

Like, fully holding one of them. She can feel them. Shaw looks at her hands, then at Root, then jumps away as if she’d been burned. Root is blushing and Shaw is blushing and she swims backwards, cursing the waves with an internal monologue of oh shit boobs oh shit boobs oh shit boobs-

And Root wont stop looking at her with her red face and her parted lips and Shaw wants to die.

She dips underwater and hopes that Root forgets all about this. ASAP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to follow us on tumblr [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/).


	3. Washington DC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late, and short, update! We promise it picks up after this chapter! :-)

“How sexually pure are you?” 

A chorus of protest rings throughout the car, as a half filled water bottle is thrown at Shaw’s head. Root pulls a pillow over her head, groaning at the early morning Buzzfeed quiz taking. It’s barely nine and she very much would prefer to be sleeping. 

“Ok first question,” Shaw reads off her phone, raising her voice so all can hear as rain falls in sheets from the sky. “Oh this is lame, I’ll go first, I guess. Had a crush?”

“Aww,” Root coos while poking Shaw’s thigh with her toes. Shaw wriggles away a bit, but both the car door to her left and the promise of warmth and more blanket to her right keeps her still. 

“I think everyone in the car can say they’ve had a crush,” John says. “And I’m pretty sure that your big crush is common knowledge.”

Shaw glares at him as he coughs, the noise sounding suspiciously like ‘Joss’ but Shaw can’t be sure over the sound of the inclement weather. 

“Hugged someone? Unwillingly but yes,” Shaw continues, clicking the button on the screen and scrolling as the next question appears. Everyone nods too, almost everyone has hugged  _ someone.  _

“Held someone's hand? Ew. That’s gay,” she fake gags, earning a kick from Root and a stern scolding from Harold. 

“Your answer is yes, Shaw,” John says from the driver’s seat, “Remember that time in freshman year?”

“What time?” Root asks, aching for some more beef on Shaw that she can tease her with. 

“Shut up,” Shaw warns, clicking yes silently. “Kissed someone on the cheek slash been kissed on the cheek, I guess so.”

Only John and Harold nod, Root apparently had not had that experience, or bothered to say if she had. 

“Been on a date? Unfortunately.”

“Oh tell me all about it,” Root implores, leaning forward and getting in her backseat buddy’s space. “Was it a disappointing man? Did he even pay for your dinner?”

“None of your business Root,” Shaw says, stony. 

“I could do better,” Root almost brags. Shaw ignores her, keeping her eyes on her phone. 

“Dated someone exclusively? No. No one’s worth my time.”

“I’m hurt,” Root places her hand dramatically on her chest. 

“Created an online dating profile. Only once, Root made me for one of her plans. Does that count?”

“Yes,” Harold pipes up, which surprises Shaw, having thought that he refused to support their antics. 

Shaw continues, “Downloaded a dating app? Well, I had to for the aforementioned plan, so yes. 

“Why are you doing this out loud?” Harold asks.

“Because I’m entertaining you with my endlessly interesting Buzzfeed quiz answers. Also you’re supposed to answer too, I thought I made that clear.” Shaw lightly kicks his chair, just moving it slightly in protest, to which he glares in response. She looks back to her phone and continues, “Been on a date with someone you met online? Ugh, this is dumb, I feel targeted. Yes. Again, Root’s plan.” She looks up and turns to Root now, her eyebrows raised. “You never did tell me what the point to all that was.”

Root was expecting that question, so she has her mysterious hacker face on, her eyes predatory and her half smile ready, as she says, “Oh that’s still need-to-know. Let’s just say that there we’re a few issues with some our high school administration. You were a wonderful piece in a chess puzzle that I ultimately will win against the local patriarchy.”

“Okay…” Shaw looks stunned for a second. “Whatever. Did I kiss the guy you made me meet online? No, Romeo was not much of a romeo. Have I slow danced? Ugh no.”

“Really?” John “Harold and I have.”

“Together?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Shaw wouldn’t go to prom with me,” Root says. “So it’s a no for me.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, and the whole car knows that she never actually asked Shaw to go to prom with her. None of them had dates, or particularly wanted to go.

“Played ‘doctor?’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean. Do I have to kinkshame someone?” Shaw looks up for clarification, but receiving only shrugs from them, and a wink from Root. Before Root has a chance to speak, Shaw moves on.

“Kissed someone on the mouth? What are we twelve? Kissed someone with tongue? Obviously. Made out for more than five minutes? Yeah. Ugh this is getting boring where’s the fun stuff?” 

“Made out in a car? No, surprisingly-”

“Wanna try?” Root winks, causing Shaw to push her back into her own seat. 

“Flirted with someone you knew was taken? Eh, challenges are fun.”

“Personally, I love flirting with taken straight girls,” Root offers.

“Flirted with someone you’re relat- What the fuck?” She stops reading and puts the phone down. She rereads and says, “Flirted with someone you’re related to?! Ew, why is incest in this. No!”

“Not even… what’s his name? Basir? He’s pretty hot,” John says, too casually. This gets him a solid smack in the side of his head with the aforementioned water bottle, not minding the fact that he is driving. 

This continues for dozens more questions, no one really learning much. They laugh at various euphemisms like ‘downstairs area’. 

“Touched yourself while looking through someone’s Facebook photos? Is this a common thing people do?” She demands to her friends, Harold and John vehemently shake their head but Root only winks in response, to which Shaw pretends to gag. 

“Mooned or flashed someone as a joke?” She laughs, “Hey John wanna see my boob for a joke?” 

He ignores her. Root pirks up. 

“Hey guys I’ve never been to a strip club,” Shaw tells them, after answering a few more questions that were strictly about exhibitionism. 

“Seriously?” John asks. “Is that a request or-”

“It’s not like it’s illegal.”

“I’m pretty sure it is; we are underage.”

Shaw shrugs and says, “It’s not like that has stopped us before.”

“I object,” says Root, “because you guys will want to go to a men’s strip club or something and that will be icky. And if we go to one with women there will be gross old straight men there.”

“Ugh Root why do you have to be so difficult,” Shaw moans, turning back to the questions. She skips a few because, honestly, she doesn’t really care to share details about her pubic hair, and certainly doesn’t want to learn about the others in the car. She begins to regret this little game as the questions take a turn for the worse. 

“Tried to perform oral sex on yourself?” Shaw reads, incredulously. The car unanimously bursts into laughter, “How the fuck?”

“I think you must be… particularly flexible,” Harold hypothesizes. A few more moments of giggles pass, as they all consider the logistics of that endeavour. 

“Had sexual intercourse?” Shaw asks, silencing the giggles, “Well yes, hasn’t everyone at this point?”

Harold clears his throat.

“Oh come on Harold, you don’t count.”

“Miss Shaw!” He protests, “Statistics show that about one percent of the Earth’s population is asexual. I certainly  _ do _ count. And anyways, we're only 18, it is perfectly normal to have abstained from sex.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, and continues, “Well I’m assuming the rest of them won’t apply to you so you can just go back to sleep.”

Harold huffs. 

“So…” Shaw turns back to her phone. “Been tied up for sex or foreplay?”

 

//

 

A few hours later. Sipping their drinks, they pass through the doors of the Botanical Garden, feeling a wall of hot, humid air hit their bodies. Inside is much hotter than the early summer morning they were just walking in. The storm mostly cleared up, leaving the air almost as wet as the greenhouse. They crane their heads up, taking in the massive trees that tower the gardens, seeing the glass ceiling tall above them. Somewhere in the room are a mass of birds, chirping their morning greetings. 

Their feet carefully step around the puddles on the floor, slowly moving through the building as they take their time looking at the plants around them. They walk over a small bridge, and look down at the bubbling pond of fish under them. Shaw leans her body over the railing, hoping to reach down and touch a fish, but her arm isn’t long enough. 

Having been occupied by watching the fish, Shaw has to rush slightly to keep up with her friends, their walking being steady and sure, unlike her chaotic rushing and resting. Harold appears to be taking the time to read every label, then make small talk and observations with John, as well as taking the occasional photo. John looks appropriately bored, but humours Harold just as he feigns interest in John’s football. Root seems to be enjoying herself, touching, smelling, or just looking at every plant she can find. 

Shaw’s approach is closest to that of Root, not caring enough about the names, and not really bored with their situation. Science is Shaw’s thing. She thinks plants are pretty ok, especially because they’re vital to living. And as much as Shaw hates to admit it, living is ok sometimes. But plants being ok doesn’t really make her time here any more interesting. 

Shaw amuses herself by naming each plant she sees after an incredibly normal white person name, followed by something completely filthy. As to mimic the traditional scientific designation. So far her favourite is ‘Helen’s Clitorus’ because it sounds like a suburban soccer mom’s sex-positive wordpress blog. She debates sharing that with her friends but determines that it’s probably funnier in her head. 

About an hour passes by, and Shaw finds that just walking around the outdoor garden, sipping her coke, and looking at flowers is surprisingly amusing. Though Shaw would loathe to admit it. She continues her game, making ruder and ruder names for plants and ignoring the scientific designation. 

Root is being annoying and distracting her from her game. She, too, doesn’t particularly  _ want _ to be here. She isn’t much of a plant person, or a people person. And now that an hour has passed this area contains a distinct amount of both. So, Root is taking Shaw’s role as the resident sulker. She taps away on her phone, probably hacking something, and she only looks up to ogle Shaw or make a sarcastic remark. Root’s bad mood is rubbing off on her, annoyingly, because now there’s something in her, yelling at her to make Root feel better. And she hates it. 

She trails behind as John, Harold, and Root join a tour of the gardens. Shaw tunes out the boring voice of the old man as he half-heartedly tells an over-interested Harold about the history of flowers in North America or something. Now Shaw is a nerd, she accepts that, she would punch anyone who  _ said  _ that out loud but internally she does know she’s a nerd. But this. This is a whole new level of nerd that Shaw can’t deal with. She can’t even borrow Bear and go for a run. 

She wanders away, keeping on the paths running into a fountain. She finds a penny on the ground and flicks it into the water. She doesn’t make a wish, because she’s Sam Shaw and she doesn’t make wishes. But she does think about things being more interesting, about this road trip being the adventure that Harold promised. She wants to do something fun. She watches the penny hit the water with a plop and then a buzzing sound hits her ears, and she has an idea. 

Five minutes later, Root watches with glee as John and some innocent bystanders sprint through the gardens, slapping at themselves and screaming as they’re attacked by a swarm of wasps. Root keeps her distance and grins as Shaw is smugly escorted off the property by a security guard. 

Once he leaves, Root walks up beside Shaw, who’s still smiling and leaning up against John’s car, watching the aftermath of the chaos. John and Harold don’t say anything to her, but they seem to know it was her. Only she would wait until Bear was safely inside the greenhouse before releasing the swarm, leaving John to fend for himself. 

She pays for it as she must drive the rest of the night, since John is passed out on his ass after taking some antihistamines. Even though John is nursing some solid wasp stings, there seem to be no hard feelings as they spend the next day in DC visiting all the old monuments and museums all together. Shaw only causes some minor trouble, having got it out of her system at the gardens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, follow us on tumblr [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/). We thrive off feedback! See you all Sunday!


	4. Virginia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look at us keeping a strict schedule...so let's see what the gang is up to in Virginia

Shaw rests her elbows at the bar, and digs her toes into the sand. She wants alcohol, anything really, but some guy told her they’ve been carding people, so she, reluctantly, is quite sober. She thinks it would have been fine, the beach is nice, the air is warm, and the party is pretty lively. Harold and John keep trying to drag her out to the games and to dance and stuff but she’s better off here. John said she’s moping but that is not true. She’s angry. Not moping. It’s different. 

She’s mostly angry at the carding bartender, but Root is second on her list right now. She is being annoyingly flirty at anything in her proximity that breathes. It’s disgusting. Guys, girls, and probably the occasional person who’s neither, they’re all enamoured by her big doe-eyes and easy smile. Shaw hates it. 

When some random girl asked her to dance, Root gave Shaw this  _ smirk _ that just about boiled her insides. It was just  _ like  _ Root to wink at  _ her  _ as she walks onto a beach with a stranger. Shaw doesn’t know why she cares. 

She really doesn’t care that it’s Root, if John or Harold did the same thing, Shaw would react similarly. The situation is just annoying. Root’s so annoying. Who ditches her friends for some  _ girl.  _

Ugh, why did Shaw agree to go on a road trip with Root?

If only she looked twenty one, then she could get drunk and ignore it all. She’s so tempted, in that moment, to whip out her emergency fake-id. But it wasn’t for alcohol (even though that’s mainly what they used it for). Harold would be upset. 

Just as she’s committed to reaching into her pocket, John settles down at the bar next to her, nudging her shoulder a little too hard to be an accident. Shaw hits him for good measure. 

“What are you glowering about?” He asks, his tone upbeat and slightly out of breath from the dancing that he and Harold were partaking in. 

“I’m not,” Shaw growls, not bothering to look at John. 

“Ok, miss I’m-not-glowering. Why are you staring at Root with an angry expression on your face?”

“I’m not!” Shaw tears her eyes away from Root, only to have them settle briefly on the large sight of her new bartenders cleavage. She finds herself flustered, searching for a safer place for her eyeballs. She reluctantly looks at John, whose smirk is quite punch-worthy. 

“Why don’t you talk to her?”

“She’s busy.”

“What?”John laughs, “You think she wouldn’t drop anything just to hear one word drop out of your mouth?”

Shaw punches him. Not hard enough, because he continues. 

“She’s looking at you now,” John says, “Maybe she needs an out. The people of Virginia aren’t that exciting. So I’ve heard.”

Shaw shrugs, and doesn’t look up from the penny she’s begun fiddling with on the counter. 

“You know,” John tells her, “Root is making that ‘help me’ face, I think that guy is boring her. She probably is too polite to escape the conversation. Want me to save her or will you?”

Shaw groans, the words ‘Root can take care of herself’ stuck in her throat. If she wasn’t this bored she would’ve ignored it. She groans again, knowing what their bit is for saving people from boring flirts. It involves fake-dating. 

She weighs her options. Either say no, and John will swoop in and be Root’s “loving boyfriend” or she has to. The former is disgusting just to think about.

“Fine.”

John shrugs, looking as if he didn’t care either way. “Just dance with her, pretend to be her girlfriend and everyone will leave you guys alone.”

Shaw knows the plan, and wants to punch John again for telling her what to do. She stands up, walking over to Root without looking back, missing John’s triumphant look. She just needs to do something to get that bursting feeling in her chest to go away. 

So she marches up to her, grabs her elbow and pulls her into the undulating crowd. Her eyes mark her path through the crowd, missing the flushed grin she knows is plastered on Root’s face (like every other time Shaw touches her). Once a suitable distance from the people who were talking to Root, and John, Shaw spins around and let's go of Roots arm. Root stands in front of her, looking a little confused. 

It only lasts a moment, because after a frustratingly cute tilt of her head, she closes the distance and begins to sway her body, just inches from Shaw. 

“What are you doing?” Shaw growls, standing stock still. 

“Dancing,” Root replies, her voice low in Shaw’s ear. “Isn't that why you dragged me out here?”

“No,” Shaw snaps. “Shut up. They looked like bad news. I'm helping you, so just shut up and dance.”

Root looks like the human embodiment of that emoji with the smile and the hearts for eyes. Shaw isn't sure how she manages to make her face look like that, but she wants to make it go away. 

Just before she does something, the crowd jostles them, pushing them right into each other. Shaw finds a small victory because the heart eyes have been wiped away, but frustratingly replaced by something she can't identify. 

Now, Shaw isn’t opposed to dancing, she doesn’t mind it, much to most people’s horror. She also is fairly good at it, she is well versed in using her body to manipulate people. But unfortunately, at the moment, she’s not sure she wants to manipulate Root. Her friend isn’t just some boy who Shaw’s trying to seduce or enact revenge on. And she’s also not like John. Root and her don’t have that sibling-like relationship. She’s not sure what Root is, and it’s pissing her off. 

Brushing the long moment aside, Shaw decides to fuck it and begins to join the movements of the crowd. Root’s eyes widen as Shaw begins to sway. Shaw ignores her, not letting Root ruin the song with her mocking or flirting. It’s an ok tune, something about dancing and shutting up, perfect for her and Root right now. Shaw is tempted to reiterate the chorus to Root every time Root looks like she’s about to say something, but Shaw isn’t sure she’ll live it down if she does. She can’t be associated with top forties pop music.

She begins getting into the dancing, both she and Root get swallowed into the masses of people, dancing and grinning as strangers point at them and mouth the words, or briefly bump shoulders in their movements. Shaw is in her element, becoming a chameleon on this beach. She is able to fully become all that the crowd expects, just a pretty girl moving wildly on some beach in Virginia. On principle, it’s dumb, and she’d much rather be drunk right now, but she’s always been good at using her body, and she has to admit, dancing is fun. 

Root, in comparison to Shaw, is not in her element. Surrounded by grinding girls, her face is flushed and hot, and her lanky limbs are unorganized. She towers above the other girls around them, being at least a couple inches above all of them, and not as confident with her dancing. She looks confused at how they just managed to join this random group, and seems even more powerless music drowns out her voice, her silvertongue as Shaw has personally dubbed it. She can’t flirt her way into people’s hearts like she usually does, and Shaw is revelling in it.   

Shaw decides to take advantage of Root’s flustered state, moving towards her, mimicking the other girls’ behaviour and lightly moving her side against her. Root doesn’t burst into the grin Shaw dreads, but she watches as Root’s pupils dilate and her mouth drops open. Shaw accidentally notices that Root is actually kind of cute when she’s flustered. Not that Shaw’d use the word ‘cute’ out loud. Just as the thought flashes through her mind, she pulls back and promptly hates herself for the traitorous idea.

Just as she thinks she’s safe from her own personal betrayal, the next song begins to play, much slower than the first. Root seems to pull herself together and re enter her flirtatious and annoying mindset. Shaw tries to escape, to move to the edges to make room for the couples, but Root grabs her hand strongly. Root pries her fingers, entangling their hands together, and pulls Shaw into her. Suddenly Shaw finds that she’s looking up at Root, her hands on the other girl’s waist, and rocking slightly to the slow voice of what probably is Ed Sheeran or some other white british boy with a guitar. 

She doesn’t have time to pull away before she’s sucked into the sight of Root’s skin, so close to her own, the feel of her hands on her shoulders, and the scent of her entering her brain. She smells the best of New York on Root’s skin, and god fucking dammit it all feels like coming home. 

She tries to act cool, roll her eyes, because she’s only doing this to humour her friend. She’s just being nice, that’s what friendship is about. She wouldn’t do this for John or Harold, but that’s different. It’s Root that’s in front of her, its Root’s forearms that are resting ever so lightly on her shoulders, and it’s Root’s waist her fingers are feeling moving in and out and in and out with every quick breath the tall girl takes.

_ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck _ . Root is  _ close  _ and  _ nice looking  _ and god fucking dammit. 

She wants to pull away because this is weird right? But Root looks so calm and happy and she has these lights shining on her behind her head that is making her hair look like a halo, and Shaw thinks that she probably shouldn’t hurt her like that. Not that she cares. She just doesn’t want Eeyore to be moping around in the car when they’re supposed to be doing fun things. 

So maybe dancing a little slower and a little closer isn’t that bad. Because that’s what close friends do right? When two girls are friends they’re more touchy than boys are, she read that somewhere. That’s why she’s ok with doing this with Root, but not with John. But does that change if Root is gay? But Shaw isn’t, so it’s fine. It’s fine. 

With one long belt of the lyrics, and a long piano closing, the song is over, and a long note of silence rings out for a second before chatter of the couples resumes. Shaw, surprisingly, doesn’t pull away first. Root does; her toothy smile calming into a crooked one, eyeing Shaw carefully for her reaction. 

Shaw finds that she misses the contact, slightly. Her bare arms feeling cold with the ocean air blowing against them. She keeps her face is impassive.

She checks her phone, finding a text from Harold informing them of their table at a nearby restaurant. She holds the phone up to Root so she can read too and she grins. So, as if nothing has happened, they make their way back to the restaurant. 

Only a few minutes had past, but she feels like she’s been in that mass of people for hours. She expects some of the others party-goers have been doing just that, having probably began their party long before sunset. Away from the speaker system, the sound is quieter and groups form in small clusters, drinking and talking. As the people thin, Shaw lets the tension release out of her shoulders, and she can finally relax again when her flip flops touch the boardwalk. Damned John and his rescue plans. 

After only a bit of searching, and no words between Root and Shaw, they find the restaurant in question. Harold waves at them excitedly from his seat at the patio, and then gestures at their seats. 

Root and Shaw get placed next to each other on the bar seats out on the patio, and Shaw only has to struggle briefly to get onto the tall chair. She can’t complain when she realizes her spot gives her an awesome view of the game on the television through the doors of the restaurant. 

“How was your dance?” John asks Shaw, his tone gravelly and too casual to not be hinting at something. 

“Wonderful,” Shaw growls back at him, scowling, and kicking him under the table before picking up her menu. She wonders how many food items she can fit in her stomach, and how much Harold can actually pay with his seemingly endless bank accounts.

She can feel Root leering at her, but she finds she’s doing a good job ignoring her. The burger in the picture looks amazing, it being sirloin and probably the size of Shaw’s ass. She decides to get that, then peruses the rest of the menu. She considers trying to order a beer to go with it, but the fact that her feet can’t reach the foot-rest bar might dissuade the server of her age. Damned America. If she was in France she would’ve been legal for years. Same with a ton of other countries. She wonders if they can hit up Canada on the way back to New York, she think she remembers its 19 there, and passing for a year older is a little easier than for 21. Only John really looks the part, but he doesn’t drink anyways so what’s the use in that.

A young waiter walks up to them, giving them a dashing smile and raising his note pad to take their orders. 

“Hey my name is Steve, what can I get for you?” He smiles brightest at her, his blue eyes flashing, and his teeth bared in a friendly look. She grins, always enjoying winning the flirty server lottery, and lists off her orders. As the list goes on, his eyes widen and his smile falters. He looks to the others for confirmation, but no one looks surprised. The other’s order much less food, and Root, annoyingly, chooses some vegan shit for her meal. 

When Steve, in all his shaven head and strong jaw glory, brings them their drinks, he asks them if they’d like to play a complimentary game. Apparently this is like one of those board game cafes but with more food, and beer. Beer that Shaw is unfortunately too young to legally appreciate. They shrug, accepting the offer. 

Apparently lots of newbies come there, so he returns with a few games that everyone seems to enjoy. Out of the selections, they choose a trivia game to start with. He hands them the box with a smile before walking to another table. Shaw grabs the instructions and skims them, pulling out the materials. They need two teams. 

“I call Harold,” John says, presumably to get a rise in response, but Shaw would’ve chosen Root anyways. They’re a better team than her with either of the boys. 

She’d never say it out loud, but she and Root are ok working together. They dominated science class, getting the best marks between them. As soon as they became friends, second semester her classes were a breeze. What Shaw didn’t know Root did and visa versa. 

The game consists of a series of large stacks of cards and a spinner to determine the subject. There’s paper to record points and a pencil there too, and Shaw takes it upon herself to be the scorekeeper. 

John flicks the spinner, it lands on sports. Shaw groans. 

“What is the name of Chicago’s Major League Baseball Team?” John reads then scoffs at the simplicity of the question, “The Cubs, obviously.”

Shaw grudgingly gives their team a point, hoping that the rest of the game isn’t that easy. 

“What’s the temperature for absolute zero?” 

“Answer!” Root and Shaw say at almost the same time, highfiving in triumph. 

“In the 2014-2015 NHL season,” Root reads, “How many Canadian teams make the playoffs?” 

“Four!” John says. 

Harold shrugs and says, “I’m glad he’s on my team. I’m more of a baseball fan, myself.”

“What is the supreme law in Canada?” John reads out loud for them. 

“Whats with all this all this Canadian bullshit?” Shaw grumbles. 

“The charter of rights and freedoms,” Root answers with a smirk.  

“Yeah Shaw,” John says, “you should be more up to date on your information. What if you commit a crime across the border? Gotta know their system.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. 

“What city is called ‘the Big Apple’?” Shaw reads and scoffs, “Seriously? Is this even a question?”

“New York!” Finch says, and Shaw grudgingly gives them a point, hating that they get such a simple question.

The boys groan, and John picks up the next card and barks out a laugh. He reads, “The earliest known references to same-sex love between women, written between 625 and 570 BC are attributed to whom?”

Root flicks her eyes at Shaw, who determinedly looks away, towards the beach. 

“Sappho,” Root responds.

She rips a card out of the deck and reads it, “What’s the oldest sponsor of the Olympics?”  

Finch and Reese look at each other then John shrugs. Shaw grins, triumphantly. She reads the write answer: “Coca-cola.”

“What is the flower arrangement traditionally given by a boy to a girl for a dance called?” Finch reads for the group, and Root turns up her nose at the question. 

“A corsage,” Shaw answers, then says: “Root, I swear to god, if you say one word about the ‘heterosexual bullshit’ I’m leaving you.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Root gasps, her eyes lighting up.

“Shut up,” Shaw growls, “I meant as a  _ partner. _ ” 

“So we’re partners now?” Root grins, “Very PC of you, but I like  _ girlfriend,  _ or  _ wife  _ better.”

“ _ For the game,”  _ Shaw says through her teeth.


	5. West Virginia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for the next installment (beware of a little fluff in this one)

“John, can you pull over?” Root breaks the silence, startling the entire car. 

“What?” John grumbles back, knocked out of his driving zone. 

“I’m feeling car sick, pull over.” 

John wouldn’t dare argue with that tone of voice, so he does what he’s told and pulls the car onto the gravel side road, coming to a slow stop. Root doesn’t wait till John puts the car in park, throwing herself out and plopping herself on the dirt.

“What the fuck?” The commotion awakens the rest of them, and soon Root is surrounded by her friends as she presses herself into the side of the car slightly curled up, her breath coming in heaves. 

“The hills,” Root breathes, “It’s screwing up my inner ear, making me nauseous.” 

Harold nods in understanding and goes to Root’s bag for some water. Shaw crouches next to Root’s good side, yanking the water from Harold’s outstretched hand and holding it up to her mouth, letting the other girl take the bottle for herself. 

Harold and John make their way back to the car, the crisis avoided. Root’s breathing slows and she regains some colour. She cracks open her eyelids and winces as the image of Shaw’s calm face spins. 

“Fucking ears man.” Root laughs and Shaw smirks in return, offering a hand for a friend. She takes it, swaying a bit as she stands, “Can we just sit for a minute?”

“Sure thing,” Shaw replies, “And let’s sit you in the front seat. Do you get vertigo and nausea a lot?”

Root nods, marvelling how Shaw has gone from sleepy- rudely awakened-friend to doctor in a few seconds. “Elevators are bad, ‘specially in New York. And sometimes when I’m coding, the room spins a lot. Doctors say it’s common for inner ear trauma.”

Shaw nods, scouting their surroundings. Cars whoosh past them, sending damp gusts of wind periodically towards them. “You good to start moving again? It’s not really safe to be pulled over like this.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry. Safety first.”

“No need to apologize,” Shaw says, “It's not like you puked on me like John did.”

“I did not puke  _ on _ you,” John says, grumbling that he's being slandered and shunned to the back seat. 

Shaw walks to the other side of the car, the gravel crunches under her feet. Root can feel the cool wet air surround her. The smell of forest new to her very city-tuned senses. The heat of the car, and smell of food and people were becoming overwhelming to her poor nauseated stomach, so these new smells were welcome. She tries to push it out of her mind that they are a bit reminiscent of her childhood. 

“I’m driving now,” Shaw says, pushing past John and sitting down beside Root. “I’m smoother than him.”

“I’d like to feel that for myself,” Root responds.

“Oh you will,” Shaw says, waiting for the boys to settle into the back seat. Harold looked weirdly ruffled in the back, like a startled bird. She backtracks, hearing how that sounded, so she says, “My driving, Root, you sicko.” 

“Oh sweetie, your driving is all I truly care about.” She pulls her feet into the car, plugs her seatbelt in and closes the door. Shaw rolls down the front windows down a touch just to keep the air circulating. 

“I need coffee.”

Shaw looks around, checking her mirrors before putting the car in gear, and slowly accelerating to pull back out onto the highway. She feels the hum of the car under her, and the contrast of the warm vehicle and the cool air that surrounds them. Everything around them is tinted blue. She scans the road for danger, hoping for a sign for a rest stop nearby. “Harold, pull up the closest coffee shop that’s open this late.”

Shaw needs coffee and maybe some pastries or something. She wonders what’s good to eat for upset stomachs. Crackers, she remembers. They’re salty and plain. She looks over to the girl to her right, the emotions still radiating from her distressed state. 

“In about 15 miles there’s a 24 hour coffee shop. It’s a bit off the highway,” Harold reads off his phone, looking for confirmation from the Shaws, who nods.

So they turn off onto a smooth highway, surrounded by forest and mountains. Finch locks his phone, sending the car into darkness again, lit only by the dials on the dashboard and the glow coming from the headlights. Root snuggles into her new seat, and Harold tosses her a blanket, as he is now resting his legs on the only true space heater (also known as John Reese). The car calms as everyone settles. 

After ten minutes or so the road begins to ascend, leading the group up a larger mountain. There is a fork in the road and Harold informs them that they must turn right, further leading them onto the dark blue mountain ahead of them. The sides of the roads begin to be populated with dark homes, occasionally one with the flickering light of a television. The road begins to twist to the right, taking them around this mountain through a series of houses that look like they might’ve been brightly coloured if they saw it in daylight. The village seems up-kept and welcoming, signs of life surround them and it gives them a strange feeling of being the only ones awake for miles. 

“It says we must turn right up ahead, in fifty feet,” Harold informs them in a soft tone, it feels wrong to break the blanket of silence that warmly covers them in this mountain town. They hit a single stoplight, the red looking brilliant juxtaposed to the deep blue sky. Shaw pulls the car right, down a hill onto a wider road in what seems to be a mountainous farmland. 

“You sure it knows where it’s going?” Shaw asks looking at the GPS on the car’s dash and not seeing anything but the road they are on. 

“Well, I presume we will find out, it says we’ll arrive in five minutes,” Harold replies. 

They hit another stop light, and a few ambiguous buildings along the way until they hit a gas station with a small coffee shop next to it. The yellow glow of it shines in their eyes as they roll up, crossing a larger road leading back into the mountains. They roll into the place, parking right next to the front door and Shaw gets out after asking the team what they would like to eat. Root joins her, wrapped in the blanket, looking a little worse for wear. 

There’s a ding as Shaw yanks open the glass door, and the dry warmth of the store hits their face. It’s a gas station stop that looks like all the rest of them, with lines of gum and candy under the counter, chips and drinks on the shelves near the back, and racks of magazines throughout. There’s basic road supplies near the back, next to a presumably sketchy bathroom. The store offers hot drinks, thereby making it a cafe in the eyes of whatever artificial intelligence chooses locations for the GPS. 

A round lady makes her way from the back, sending them welcomes and asking what they need. Shaw orders a plain coffee for herself and a green tea for Finch, and waits for Root to make her decision. 

“What are you gals doing out here at such an odd hour,” the shop owner asks, her voice betraying a thick local accent that's almost foreign to their New York ears. 

“Oh just doing a night drive, trying to make some distance,” Root replies, with an enviable sweetness to her tone, according to Shaw, who has found that she can never make her voice do the polite thing with strangers she doesn’t care about. Saying please and thank-you only goes so far. 

Root scans the board, then decides on a girly drink filled with caramel and love or something, Shaw supposes. While Root grabs her wallet to pay, Shaw dumps a few weird vegan energy bars that Root approves of and some gum on the counter, for later. 

“Where are you two headed?” The lady inquires, smiling and leaning her bare arms on the counter and breaking into Shaw’s four foot wide personal space. 

“Oh, no where in particular,” Shaw attempts politely. Forcing a quick smile. She wished Root could answer for the two of them all the time. It was almost nice to defer to her, Root being almost like her interface into the rest of the world. But just as that thought crossed her mind she shakes it away. No point thinking long term. They have a month. A month. 

Even with her self corrections she wants to think long term because for the first time in awhile, this everyday action of just grabbing coffee with Root feels like something she could see herself doing again. And maybe enjoying it. 

Root gets the change and they leave, the odd sound of Root’s flip flops breaking the steady hum of the store. They cross the threshold of the store, and return to the real world. A world in which for the time being, is filled with misty backroads and warm coffee. 


	6. Tennesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this one is going to be a little long but chalk full of goodness

Root wakes with a start from a firm kick to her thigh. Shaw is glaring at her and saying something but Root’s brain is too foggy and far away for her to understand. She sits up slightly, now sitting normally in the seat and looks at Shaw; realizing that her cochlear implant is off and the world around her is distinctly muffled.

She stretches her back leisurely, hoping that Shaw didn’t actually see her nighttime distress, and flicks the switch to tune back into reality. Shaw’s just looking at her now, and Root winks in response.

“So?” Shaw says, waiting for the answer to an unheard question. 

“So what?” Root asks, genuinely confused. 

“Let’s go, get your butt in gear. We’re going for a run.”

Root pales, dreading the thought of sweating in this already humid summers day. Shaw appears already ready to go, wearing soccer shorts and a sports bra. Root has no idea why today of all days Shaw decided to bring Root along for her jog. She was more of a spectator to Shaw’s physical activity, admiring, but never participating. 

“Come on,” Shaw says in a tone that means business, so Root ditches her glasses in the car. Better slightly blind than tripping and losing her only pair. 

She pulls her hair into a ponytail, and tugs a pair of shorts out of her backpack on the floor. She doesn’t bother hiding as she tugs her pyjama pants down, revealing her grey underwear, because honestly, Shaw has seen her at basically every state of dress and modesty isn’t conducive to an impatient jogger. Root knows that Shaw is making some form of an effort here and she isn’t going to pass it up. She is now thankful of her tiny boobs that make jogging uncumbersome, not needing much beyond a simple sports tank top.

Without even five minutes passing after awakening, Root sets off at a quick walk, following Shaw wherever she goes, hoping she can keep up. Shaw lets her warm up, continuing their walk for longer than Root knows Shaw would let herself alone. 

Root takes this time to take stock of today’s surroundings, and her running partner. The sky is grey, filled with giant mountainous clouds, but this perpetual shade does not allow them any respite from the heat, which is all encompassing that day. The air is humid and tense, the feeling of anticipation can be felt everywhere, almost like electricity in nature. To Root, this is invigorating, pushing her steps further as she keeps up with her swift friend. 

No matter Root’s advantage in having longer legs, following Shaw is exercise in itself- her pace being exacting and brutal no matter the context. And while hyping for a workout, Root feels the need to push herself harder, almost slamming her feet into the grassy hill, and leaping forward with each step. She watches Shaw effortlessly maneuver the hill, her limps confidant and powerful.

* * *

 

Shaw slows as they reach what seems to be the end of this particular trail, one that rounded the side of the mountain instead of up it. Root is thankful for the lack of steepness, and for the break in pace as she begins to walk, embarrassingly gasping for air, while Shaw only breathes slightly deeper than normal. Root knows her face is flushed, and can feel the obscured sun warm her exposed skin. She reaches for Shaw’s water, forcing herself to drink it slowly. She hears the own rush of her blood, and her limbs are feeling both light, with her slight dizziness, and heavy with exertion. She should really do this more often, because she is seriously out of shape. 

“Maybe you should have listened to me when I told you to get out more,” Shaw teases her, grabbing the water bottle and taking a sip of her own. 

“Maybe you should shut up,” Root retaliates lamely. 

They begin to move again, much to Root’s distress, because she’s only just feeling strong enough not to pass out. Shaw, brutal as she is, has no sympathy and is looking around at their end point. 

It’s a bend in the river, the other side sporting a forest and a marsh, and their side is a wildflower and grass park, with a few trees here and there. To the right, is a small picnic area under an old tree. The river is blue-green and wide, flowing from somewhere to their left, behind the thick forest of trees, and curving around to where they came from. They reach the end where the grass turns into rocks as they reach the water’s edge. 

“I’m going in,” Shaw says, simply.

“Are you crazy! It might not be safe!” Root pants. 

“Of course it’s safe, there’s a rope swing,” Shaw responds cooly, “Kids must play here all the time. Do you see a sign that says danger? No.”

With that, Shaw yanks off her soccer shorts, revealing black underwear, and dips her foot in the water. Root watches on, both enjoying the extra skin on Shaw and apprehensive to the sensibility of her actions. Shaw puts her other foot in, and she sinks a bit into the half mud half sand riverbed. Her hand brushes the wide trunk of the tree for support as she wades into the current, her feet beginning to hit large round stones under water. She circles the tree, making Root lose sight of her. 

“It’s not that bad, Root.” 

Root decides to mount the tree, sitting in the wide v between where the two main trunks jut out. Shaw is only feet away as she sits there, up to her waist now, scouting the depth and watching for drop offs and undercurrents. She drinks some more from the bottle. 

“Is the water moving as fast as it looks?” Root asks her, watching as a leaf flows past Shaw. There aren’t rapids, and the river is wide, but Root still worries that she won't be able to help Shaw if she falls in. She know’s that Shaw is a strong swimmer, and would trust her to fish herself out, but if she knocks her head Root doubts she could reciprocate.

“Yep!” Shaw responds, “It’s awesome, you should join me.”

Root does not join her immediately, but makes the first move by dipping her toes in the water, surprised by it’s warmth. Allowing her legs to move back and forth, she drags her toes in the water, creating small ripples on the surface. It cools her, and her breathing begins to slow. She feels the steady pull of the current, trying to move her left into newer waters. She stays put for now, enjoying the summer’s day now that she isn’t red in the face. 

She follows the trunk with her eyes, noticing a small piece of wood nailed into the wood, a foothold for those who wish to scramble up. She imagines kids on summer days like today, climbing the tree, walking down the branch to the end and jumping into the clear river water with a large splash, taking turns and laughing the whole time. She then sees a similar bar on the higher branch, leading to the second tier. Root wonders if only the brave kids jump from there, or just the ones with no sense. That branch is also the one that the rope swing is tied to. It being a large thick sandy yellow rope with a large knot, thicker than even John’s fists. It is tied firmly and hangs down so that its tip barely trails into the water. She imagines that to successfully swing from it, you’d put one leg on either side of the tree’s v,  jump back, and then swing. It looks fun, she has to admit. 

Beyond the tree, she watches some birds fly in the sky. They look tiny and dark, contrasting with the wide grey sky as they fly in a chaotic, but seemingly choreographed dance. They swoop and dive, some in unison, but others alone, rising up into the sky, around, and down into the trees. As she shifts her eyes to look at the massive billows of clouds in the sky, she feels hands around her waist, then she no longer feels the tree under her. Without fully realizing what was happening, her entire lower half is in the water and she is really, really cold. 

Shaw’s laughing face is now right in front of her, still holding her up in the water, responsibly keeping Root’s head above water. There would be hell to pay if Root’s hearing aid got damaged by the river. (It’s water resistant, not water _ proof.)  _ Root watches on as Shaw’s cheeks spit with glee, but instead of laughing with her, Root pushes her away with a “fuck you, Shaw!” She grumbles at the sudden wetness, and splashes the other girl in retaliation. 

Despite her anger, the water is not actually that bad. Sure, the water’s cold, but after that sweaty jog it’s almost welcome. Now, with a quick and guilty pang of regret for not savouring the Shaw-initiated physical contact, but still keeping her grumpy image, she moves to the edge and dries her hands on Shaw’s shirt before removing her external processor, putting it in in one of her shoes (the safest place she has on short notice), and covering them with the slightly damp shirt. 

Half-deaf, she jumps into the water, knowing that it’s better get it over with than try to wade in. As she feels fully immersed she realizes how strong the current actually is, and has to swim forcefully to maintain her position. She reemerges a few feet away, and stands up again, walking on the underwater rocks to move back to the tree. 

She raises her head out of the water and squints to focus on Shaw’s face as she breaks into laughter, the world still sounding as foggy as if she was still underwater. She stands up straight, and begins navigating through the water towards Shaw, who now leans against the overhanging tree branch. Root joins her, lowering herself back into the water to sit on a rock, shivering slightly, the breeze cooling her skin. The water is warmer than the air, so she leans back into it, letting her feet raise off the riverbed to float slightly. She enjoys the feeling of her limbs being dragged softly by the current. She tilts her head up, closing her eyes against the brightness of the grey, feeling heat of the day on her skin, warming what the breeze cools. She enjoys the feel of her natural senses: the water lapping at her skin, the warmth of the summer, the smell of the water, the red world that she can see through her closed eyes. 

She doesn’t notice until she feels a splash on her side that Shaw has now discovered the rope swing. Root turns her head in the direction, angling her good ear and squinting to more clearly sense what’s going on. Shaw emerges from the water, hair plastered to her scalp in a way that wouldn’t be hot on anyone but her. Her mouth is open wide and gasping for air, looking desperate in a way that Root would like to see again, but with her in charge instead of the turbulent river. Shaw wipes her face with her hand, scraping her hair away from her hand and climbing out of the water once again. She grabs the rope and holds it as she climbs onto the v of the tree again, positioning herself higher and higher up the trunk to get the most distance. Root admires her straining limbs, how her leg the curves up to her butt, which is only barely covered by her thin black underwear. She springs back and flies through the air, making eye contact just as she releases the rope, smirking and falling into the water with a loud white crash. 

This time, she doesn’t emerge immediately, but stays underwater, apparently swimming along with the current. Before Root has the chance to worry, Shaw rises just inches away from Root’s legs, and paddles up so that she is leaning over her. Shaw then straddles Root, causing her skin to flare with heat, seeing Shaw’s almost bare body making her throat dry and her hands want to reach up and touch her. She doesn’t, instead she just looks at the other girl and waits to see what Shaw does. Root braces herself with whatever is to come, just watching Shaw linger over her, suspiciously still. 

“Let’s jump out of the tree together,” Shaw tells her. Root feels like the moment lasts forever, but in reality it lasts just seconds, and it is Shaw’s weirdly sexual way of speaking directly into Root’s good ear. 

“Huh?” her voice sounding strange without her electronic aid. She hopes she’s got the right volume and tone, but she can’t really tell. 

“Let’s jump out of the tree together,” Shaw repeats.

“Sameen,” Root says, trying to turn away, but blocked by the impressive muscles to either side. 

“Root.”

“Sameen.”

Shaw just looks at her, eyes clear and friendly but without any true hint of whatever is underneath, like usual. She tilts her head, her hair dripping with water. Root requices. 

“Fine. Once. The water is deep enough? I don’t want us to die here.”

“Yeah it’s super deep, just don’t do a pencil dive, that’s never safe.”

Root holds her hands out to request Shaw to help her up, but is ignored. She expected as much. “It wouldn’t be a bad place to die,” she says. “It’s pretty here. Company isn’t bad too.”

Root stands up by herself, balancing by holding the rocks behind her, causing mud to smear all over her hands. She climbs back onto the grass, its texture feeling weird under her bare, wet, muddy feet. She waits for Shaw to climb up, and defers to her and her tree jumping expertise.

Although she does follow Shaw’s lead, Root is no stranger to tree climbing. Throughout her life she has been drawn to height, revelling in the feel of pushing herself higher and higher, trying to scrape the sky and truly fit into New York City. But what she is unfamiliar with is jumping from trees- that she doesn’t do well. She considers it too much like falling for her own comfort. 

She admires Shaw’s ass as she climbs onto the base of the tree, watching as her leg muscles tighten and relax in perfect coordination as she lifts herself higher and higher over Root’s head. Root has a flash of guilt for looking at her friend in such a manner, but pushes that away. 

She follows in her wake, but the tree feels slippery under her muddy limbs, so she travels at a much slower pace than her climbing partner did. The tree is smooth under the pads of her fingers, apparently worn away after generation of brave climbers like themselves. She reaches the nailed in step, and thanks whoever put it there as the tree would be too slippery without the base to pull herself up. 

She joins Shaw on the branch, it’s pale form stretching over the river like a grasping old hand. It forks at its base, creating a sort of railing on one side so that they can balance themselves as they walk further into the center of the river. Root looks down and wobbles, her balance never really being that good, and the vertigo throwing her off. Shaw’s shoulder brushes hers and she feels her laugh more than she hears her. 

Root takes the chance to take a look at her surroundings, gaining the new perspective from so high up in the air. Logically she knows that she only has about 10 feet on her normal self, but she feels miles above the earth, swaying with the wind. To her right, beyond Shaw,  is the swampy forest on the other side of the river, and to her left, is the warm wildflower fields that leads back to their campsite. Below her is the fresh river, waiting to swallow her whole. 

Shaw bounces the branch slightly, making them sway. Root does it in response. She can feel the laughter again. The third time they bounce it together, then plunge into the depths of the river. 

As soon as the tree is no longer connected to her feet, she finds herself in the water, white bubbles cloaking her and the river pulling her downstream. The thud of the river hits her next, and the innate desire to feel the sun on her face, and the air in her lungs propels her to the surface, bursting through the river with a splash and a gasp. 

Shaw, naturally, is ahead of her, sitting on a rock and shaking her hair like a dog. Root swims on diagonal, following the current and returning to the shore. Her feet hit the sand, and she digs her toes into it and lets her feet drag as she rests for a moment. She sits into the water, treading softly with her arms moving back and forth, and tilts her head back into the water to cover her ears with water, embracing the feel of the complete deafness to the air vibrations. 

She opens her eyes and watches the first raindrop hit the water with a splat, sending ripples through the surface of the relatively calm river. She lifts her head out of the water. Then another falls near her, this time closer to her so that she can hear the splat. When the third hits so does the forth then the whole sky is breaking and releasing all that it has onto them. 

Root stands up, letting the water fall off of her, blending into the sudden torrential rain that overwhelms her in that moment. An exclamation escapes her, and she turns to Shaw, who is still resting on her rock, drenched and looking as comfortable as if she is a mermaid. The sky pours down, it smacking the water with warm droplets, creating bubbles in the river and a mist that surrounds them. 

Root closes her eyes, and the warm rain engulfs her, plastering her hair to her head and feeling like a shower with amazing water pressure. Despite her dulled hearing, the torrential downpour is still a powerful sound, especially the way the droplets pound on the water, relentlessly. 

The three of them have a moment: Root, Shaw, and the water, the feeling of water trickling on her forehead somehow feeling important. She looks at Shaw again, and finds the girl already looking at her, head tilted and drenched. Their eyes meet, and the universe shutters with a tumultuous roll of thunder. Root grins and the sky bursts into flames, a crack of lightning illuminating the earth. 

Shaw beckons to her, wordlessly ordering her out of the river. They need to get out of the water, because lightning repeatedly strikes water, and it could kill them instantly. Normally, Root likes a touch of danger in her activities with Shaw, but this time the odds are a little vicious. She therefore walks to the edge, and grabs Shaw’s unwilling arm, helping herself out of the current, and clinging to the other girl for a moment longer than necessary. As their feet hit the earth, their skin doesn’t even begin to dry, the water dripping off from the river is only replaced by the onslaughts of the rain. 

Her bare feet squish into the dark, gooey mud as she walks over to the tree to retrieve her clothes, thankful she put her hearing aids into the safety of her shoe. She bundles them up and places them under her arm, watching Shaw do the same. 

She’s almost tempted to put her shirt back on, feeling completely naked in front of Shaw. Out of the water, the fact that she is in her bra and shorts feels exposed, and intimate. She watches Shaw, but the girl seems not to mind the partial nudity, her wet muscles on display for no one but Root. Her chest swells, and she feels completely alone in the most special way possible, because she is the one Shaw wants to spend her time with, not John, not anyone but her. And now they are miles from home, in a downpour, walking leisurely as lightning fills the sky. 

It rains the rest of the day, and into the night. They forgo their now habitual camping arrangement for a relatively nice motel. 

* * *

 

The next morning, Root rolls her shoulders, trying to dislodge the tightness she feels in her neck and shoulders. Sleeping with Shaw for the first time was not how she expected. Sure, she expected sex. That didn’t happen. She also didn’t expect the brutal cuddling. Though, if Root even mentioned she knows she might not have a tongue anymore. 

Shaw managed to take up the entire motel bed for the beginning of the night, forcing Root to either sleep on the edge, or allow herself to be used as a pillow. At first she gracefully accepted Shaw’s unconscious advances, but alas it was too good to be true. Root’s chest was soon covered in saliva, and not in a good, or consenting way. 

Sufficed to say she was a little bit tired, and a little bit sore. That, and the fact that summer rain from the day before has left a slightly chilly, damp feeling in the air, makes the strong black tea in her hands was the best thing she had ever experienced. 

As she dumps sugar in the large mug, Shaw gives her a baffled look, her arched black brows raising in horror. Shaw makes a quip about whether or not wanting tea with her sugar, but Root only makes a noncommittal noise.

Today, the lingering emotional effects of all that happened these past days combine into a bit of a haze of feelings. Something happened the day before, but she can’t really place it. So she is feeling a little floaty this morning. A term she coined post-accident to describe the times where she didn’t really feel the need to be present. In the past, she sometimes turned off her cochlear implant, to disconnect for a bit. She could still hear, just not that much. So some days she would feign tech issues. 

Months ago, she would probably immerse herself in coding, or simply a book or a film. Now as she leaves the world for a few minutes, Root finds that Shaw is good company. She doesn’t press her for explanations, or get offended at her silence. 

She decides that in her muted state that there was nothing better to do than people watch. Her first choice would’ve been to watch Shaw, but her self preservation instincts kick in to avoid being hit, so she gazes around the cafe. She sips her tea again, glances at Shaw as she finishes off her danish, then Root lets her eyes focus farther than her table-mate. 

There’s a young woman over Shaw’s shoulder, sipping what looks to be black coffee and reading something on her phone. Her straight black hair is cropped in a black bob, and her narrow eyes hold a trace of a smile. Her lips are bright red, and briefly Root’s mind flashes to what it would be like to kiss them. She blinks, then wonders what the lady is reading so avidly. Maybe she’s looking at bad facebook memes, or maybe she’s reading an article on feminism in the pre-colonial middle east. Either way, Root hopes the lady is having fun. 

After a few minutes, and a third of her tea, her eyes are drawn by a sharp squeal to her left, near the entrance to the stone coffee shop. A small child is reaching for her juice bottle and the mother is reading to her from a picture book. Root can’t see the title exactly, but thinks it says something about worms. The mother has a light purple floral headdress, and the colour matches the little girl’s shorts. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Shaw watching her. Root smirks and without turning she asks: “Shaw, do you want kids?”

“With you? No.”

Shaw looks worried for a second, her eyes widening and her lips part, her usual snark having a greater effect that morning. Root finds that she isn’t hurt too much by that dig, their dynamic feeling comfortably normal. So Root says, ““Rude, but like... in general.”

“Same thing.”

“Why not?”

“I never thought I’d last that long,” Shaw chuckles dryly, and this makes Root’s stomach flop, not in a good way. She turns and feels her mischievous expression change to worry. Shaw continues, “Anyways, even if I did like offspring, I have enough cousins to give me my fair share of babies. And there’s always John and Harold. I bet they’ll end up with a baby somehow. Knowing Harold, he’ll accidentally steal one some time.”

“Like the time you stole Bear?”

“No it’s different. Bear asked me to steal him, babies can’t speak.”

Root couldn’t argue with that, but had to imagine John and Harold with a baby, and giggles at the picture. 

“How ‘bout you?” 

Root almost squeals at Shaw’s question, loving the interest she is showing about her. She’s trying and that’s making Root soar. She therefore decides to answer honestly, postponing her natural sarcasm.

“Uh, no.” She thinks about it for a moment, taking the time to picture herself with Shaw, and their child. The image seems wrong somehow, too many people and not enough sex or freedom. “None for me. Growing up, I never thought pushing a thing out of my vagina sounded too appealing. Not to mention men usually have to be involved. I guess I took the whole ‘boys have cooties’ thing to heart.” 

Shaw grunts a chuckle, turning back away and pulling out her phone. 

“John’s up,” she says, “and he says not to use the shower.”

“Do I want to know?”

“He just sent the knife emoji,” Shaw snorts, “My bets on murder.”

They laugh, and the morning continues. Root discovers as she takes her final few sips of tea, that Shaw’s leg is now pressed to hers. She doesn’t move away and they rest in that companionable silence, watching the world around them. In that moment, the world seems a little more  _ right.  _


	7. Mississippi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry we missed the last update, our lives kind of got in the way but we should be on track from now on

They pull into the parking, perking up with excitement at the prospect of finally stretching their legs and getting some fresh air. The car was getting stuffy and the smell of unwashed bodies was filling the small space. After this, they were taking a much-needed trip to the laundromat. 

Shaw pretends to heave and throws open the door, dramatically gasping for breath and lamenting the stench of John’s sweat, causing him to smirk, and the others to groan. John joins them and they both begin to stretch, having decided to go for a run on the trail. They chatter excitedly, bragging about their prowess and how the other is going down. 

Harold decided to give Bear the day off, taking off his service-dog harness and giving him a warm pat and a command to relax. The dog has been working a lot in the past week and he deserves a vacation as much as they do. As Harold begins packing snacks and water into a backpack, Root is tasked with leading Bear to the grass to pee with a normal leash. He sniffs around quickly and his tail wags rapidly. Root watches him raise his leg with feigned disgust, her false hatred habitually melting when actually faced with the dog himself. Once he finishes, he marches over to Shaw, dragging Root with him, and nudging her with his wet nose. 

“Hey sexy!” Exclaims Shaw, squatting and grabbing Bear’s head with her arms and pulling him into her in a big hug. His tail speeds up and he falls into her and trying to lick her neck sloppily. She takes this as an enthusiastic response and smiles at him, the glow of it splitting her face. 

Root lets go of the leash, trusting Shaw to take care of him and returns to Harold to take control of the backpack. Knowing him, he’ll try to carry it himself, and she can’t be his partner-in-disability without understanding his limits more than he does, and enforcing a strict ‘don’t push yourself’ policy. 

As she rounds the car, a hand emerges, giving her a large bottle of sunscreen wordlessly. Harold eyes her as she considers ditching the cream, and his judgement forces her to make the right decision. Although getting burnt and whining until Shaw puts aloe on her skin is tempting, the pain of it doesn’t really appeal to her. So she squirts a large pile of it onto her hand and begins systematically rubbing it onto her face and shoulders. The smell is nice, brining her to back to summer days in Texas, back when her mom was ok and the world was loud. 

Like she expected, Harold tries to take the load of the backpack himself, awkwardly heaving the thing onto his back with a grimace. She tuts at him and raises her eyebrow, holding out her hand to request him to give it to her. He deflates, but does as he is told. 

So Root lifts the small sack onto her back, and secures the straps and sets off. She watches as Harold checks his phone, making sure it’s handy to take photos, as the self-appointed road-trip photographer. 

“What route are we taking?” Harold asks, he and Root join the others, rearing to go as they look at the large wooden map. 

“The green route,” John says and points at the medium length one weaving throughout the forest and leading to into the center of the park, sporting a small lake. “It says we can do it in a few hours.”

They shrug and set off, at a slow pace, Shaw walking ahead and jogging with Bear every which way as he sniffs anything he can find. Root can tell Shaw is buzzing with pent up energy. In the last few hours of the trip she’s looked like she was about to explode, and not in a hot way, but in a second-hand stress way. John seems to see this too.

“I’ll race you to the lake!” He says and takes off before Shaw has a chance to respond or prepare, gaining a few second head start. One after the other, with Bear joining them, they race off into the forest without even a glance back to their friends. 

“How long will it take them?” Root asks, watching them disappear.

“Mr. Reese and Miss Shaw? Twenty minutes. Us? About forty five.”

So they walk, following their other friends lead but slower and more leisurely. They take in the warm summer day and the beauty of their surroundings, not really worried about being left behind. Trees surround them on both sides, their trunks bending towards them, making a round cave-feeling path. A nice cool settles upon their warm bones, the shade quelling the intense, pervasive heat that has met them throughout their adventures in the south. 

Harold glances at the peaceful girl beside him, wanting to fill the silence but not with what he had on his mind, it would ruin the pure calming moment they were sharing. Root was humming a soft tune to herself, but Harold paused at the sound. He remembered the song, except it wasn't tied to anything as wonderful as this moment. The brunette kept strolling along the path, while he had stopped to recall his darkened past. 

"Hey, Harry what do you think of these flowers," Root went to turn and show the flower to him, but realized he was far behind her, his limp more apparent than usual. She sees the pain in his face, in how his brows scrunch, and his shoulders hunch. 

"You okay back there? Do we need to go back to the truck?" 

Harold was shaken out of his thoughts, "Oh no, Miss Groves. I was just reminiscing on the past, nothing as grand as those flowers." 

Not trying to make him uncomfortable, Root walks at his pace until they reach a bench.

"It may not be grand, but it's something. Spill."

Root pretends that  _ she  _ was the one getting a little tired and dramatically throwing herself onto the bench and pulling a bottle of water out. She takes a swig before offering it to Harold as he settles onto the bench. Root can sense the relief in his eyes, but they are clouded with something. 

His large eyes, rounded with his circular glasses, are caught on something in the trees. His eyes dart this way and that, finally slowing and focusing on something in the underbrush. Root follows his eyes, finding that a bird is now hidden in the leaves. 

“Miss Groves?” His voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes Harry?”

“Do you know what kind of bird that is?” Harold points at the tuft of color poking out from behind the leaves.

“No,” she squints, tilting her head as if that will lead her to more information. “Do you?”

“I do,” he smiles briefly, “It is a  Baltimore Oriole .”

Root doesn’t see the meaning, watching his profile with confusion displayed on her furrowed brows and slight pout. He frowns and rubs his knee quickly and sharply, his nose scrunching up. 

“Remember that teacher,” Harold says, his grimace changes to a smirk, his eyes lighting up in glee, “Mr. Smith?”

“Oh god,” Root giggles, “How could I forget?”

“I did an assignment on Ornithology in his class,” he continues. “Do you recall his comments on my presentation? Did I tell you?”

Root shakes her head. 

“‘Too much enthusiasm for the topic,’ he told me, ‘your passion is not relevant.’ Can you believe it?” He pulls on the end of his shirt, one of his many nervous ticks.

“Oh god, really?”

“Indeed. I was tempted to bring it up to administration,” Harold says, raising his brows, “on the principle of it.”

“Did you hack it?”

“Now Miss Root,” Harold chastises her, “Hacking holds such negative connotations. I corrected my mark to more accurately reflect my work, not his personal interpretation of my personality. And anyways, the enthusiasm for the birds is a learned trait, I have no control over it.” 

Root is silent for a moment, taking the last statement in. 

“Learned?”

“My father,” he says casually, before his eyes widen at the enormity of the situation he has placed himself in. As a rule, Harold remains an enigma to his peers. None of them even know his legal last name. Root says nothing, her eyes away from him, not trying to scare him into hiding once again. To hack Harold, one must appear innocuous. “He taught me about them.”

Root takes the chance. 

“Where is he?”

None of them had met him. Harold lives alone, and always had. As long as any of them had been friends with him. Root thinks Reese might know, and Shaw probably figured it out, but Root is trying hard to respect her friend’s privacy. 

Root expects silence, or avoidance, or a metaphor for death, but Harold answers simply with, “Upper New York State’s Facility for Long-Term Care. The psychiatric ward.” He rubs his leg again. “He only remembers the birds now.” 

Root murmurs a small condolence, but she doesn't initiate any form of contact.

“You know,” Harold perks up again, signalling the end to that topic, “I was not planning on staying in school, when I was on my own. I had an alias signed up for online university already, I was a week away from dropping out.”

“Dropping out? You? But you think dropping out is dumb!” Root puts her hand to her chest in a mock disbelief, for she knew anyone with the IQ as high as his thinks about dropping out quite often.

“Indeed. I had no use for it.” He turns his attention back to the bird hiding in the tree. 

“Why did you stay?”

"One day I walked into the school's maintenance room, ready to take my name out of the system; when I found this girl sitting in there." Root's heart beats a little faster and her breath hitches. "She was hacking in already, I didn't see exactly what it she was doing, but I finally knew why there were these bits of codes randomly throughout the system. That day, I found a mystery to be solved.”

Root nods after a moment. 

“It’s ok not to tell me, Root,” Harold says, softly, “but you never did say where you came from, or why you were there.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Root counters, “Too busy counterhacking me.”

“That is true.”

“"And when we stopped trying to out do one another, neither one of us brought it up again.”

"You've told Miss Shaw about your life before us, I presume?"

"No," Root looks down at her hands, "I’ve told her hardly anything about me."

“Oh.” 

“Something happened,” Root begins, “back when I was a kid. I had this friend, and something happened to her. I needed to- I needed to be far away from there."

She doesn’t say anything for awhile. Harold stands up, and offers her his hand, which she gladly accepts. They continue up the path at a slower pace than usual.

“Someone hurt my friend, and he needed to be hurt in return. And only I knew,” Root says, watching the forest floor as she walks. She admires how the sunlight dapples the red clay earth. She’s tempted to take off her shoes and feel it on her skin. 

“I needed a cover,” she continues, “and your school worked.” 

“Our,” Harold corrects, automatically. 

“Did you know?” Root asks, aware of the answer already. “What happened to her?”

“I did.”

“That’s how you found out my name.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you pretend you don’t know?” Root loops her arm around his, then rests her head on his shoulder. Sometimes she forgets that they’re actually the same height. She wears a lot of boots that give her a few inches. But wearing her flip flops, her head easily rests on him as they walk down the path.

“Because I learned it when I thought you were my enemy.” His voice becomes distant as he speaks. 

After a silent beat Root asks the question that had been on her mind for some time, “Why do you call me Miss Groves?”

He refuses to answer the question, so Root continues, "You know, it wasn’t me who killed him, right?” 

“Root-”

“He deserved me killing him, and I wanted to. But I didn’t do it.”

Harold nods, and they walk. 

“I might have, but-” Root swallows, “what would it accomplish? Nothing will change. I’ll still be Root, and they’ll both still be dead.”

Harold doesn’t know, and doesn’t answer. Root looks relieved, almost. They said the words, and nothing changed. They still walk, and the birds still chirp around them. 

“‘What would it accomplish?’” Harold repeats, “is a question I ask myself often. It’s a key tenant in any inquiry based study, obviously. How do my actions affect the natural order? Can I affect it? Will my changes be relevant after I die?

“When I was a boy, no older than seven or eight, I was already creating circuits, designing memory banks. I wanted my father to have, something to help him remember. An external drive. We didn’t have enough money for a real computer, so I made my own. It was crude, yes, but it got me thinking.”

“Thinking about your AI.”

“Precisely.”

He repeats: “But what would it accomplish?”

“I know that anything built by you, Harry, would be fantastic. I know I benefited greatly from your programming.” 

Harold doesn’t miss the double entendre, but they don’t mention it. They don’t ask what would have happened if he hadn’t walked into the maintenance room, if they hadn’t met, and competed. And they don’t dare ask what would have happened if the accident didn’t happen. That wasn’t something they talk about. But maybe they will? Should they? 

And they don’t press further, accepting how much they now know for sure, still resting with multitudes of questions, but understanding their limits. 

The light almost blinds them as they emerge from the shade of the trees. They can hear barking and the sound of their friends yelling, before they see them. John is fighting Bear for a stick, and losing by the sight of it. He’s falling forward into Bear’s tugging, stumbling across the field, trying to regain his footing. Shaw is egging him on, yelling words of encouragement at the dog. 

Shaw and John greet them, waving enthusiastically before turning back to Bear. Surprisingly, John wins, yanking the toy from Bear and falling backwards with the force. He remains on his feet just long enough to throw the stick wildly into the air. It soars across the bright blue sky, spinning and flipping in the air. Bear tears after it, sprinting with all his might, his powerful hind legs propelling him forward. His eyes never leave the stick, committing to his chase right to the edge of the small lake and beyond. 

They scream as he jumps right into the water, splashing up mud and proudly paddling over to his floating stick. Harold gawks as Bear emerges from the water, dripping and wagging his tale and jogging back over to them. They try to jump away, but still they get hit by the flying water droplets as Bear tries to rid himself of the after effects of the lake. 

Only Shaw finds humour in this, having jumped away far enough to avoid most of the spray. She enjoys the distraught looks on their faces, and the perturbed muttering coming from Harold as he looks between his clothes and his dog.  

Shaw takes one for the team and decides to run him around, hoping most of the water will dry in the sun. John, Harold, and Root watch her antics as she chases and is chased by Bear. They eventually decide to find a dry place to set up their lunch, going to higher ground and setting out the thin picnic blanket on the soft, thick grass.

* * *

 

Root sits next to Shaw, whose legs are slowly drying in the warm afternoon sun. Root watches as John throws the frisbee again and again for Bear. The two of them never seem to get tired. On the other hand, Harold has claimed a spot near the water for a nap, guarding the backpack with his prone form. Root smiles, enjoying the day. 

She leans back, joining Shaw as she lays down on the warm grass. She rolls to her side, feeling the earth press into her arm. Her half lidded eyes search Shaw’s profile for something, she’s not sure what. Her eyes dart along Shaw’s nose and bounce on her lips, then trail down her neck until the swell of her chest before she stops herself. She forces her eyes to the sky, mimicking Shaw’s steady determined gaze, but she keeps getting snared in the sight of the parted red lips in front of her. 

They’re so close, and Root imagines the feel of them on her own. She closes her eyes and pretends that she can just lean forward and feel her cheek on her lips, or taste her neck. She breathes deep. Shaw enters her lungs and soothes the anxiety that tightens her chest. Shaw seems so peaceful, almost happy, and Root feels the same and wants to show it. She can feel her heart speed as she inches closer, her brain clouded with the smell of gun powder, cloves and sweat. Her eyes close and she feels the warmth of Shaw’s slightly damp skin radiating into her own. 

She closes the distance and feels Shaw’s surprisingly soft jaw against her lips. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst, her insides rearrange in a way that makes her feel like she is a brand new, unbroken person, but just for a moment, because then reality hits her in the form of the air between her and Shaw as she jerks away with a growl. 

“What the fuck?”

Root feels herself implode and rolls onto her back. The blue sky dims as a grey cloud covers the sun. She sits up, feeling far away. She know’s she made a mistake. She pulls her knees towards herself, she bares her neck, and opens herself for the expected attack. She tilts her head and drags her eyes to meet Shaw’s. 

She’s crouching beside her, Shaw’s eyes are black and disgusted as she rubs her neck as one would an insect bite. Her lips turn up in a grimace in response to Root’s detached smile.

“I-I’m not gay; I’m not… li- like  _ you _ .”

She spits out the word, throwing it at Root so that it hits her like a physical blow. Shaw turns and walks away, storming off back into the woods. 

Root remains in place. Bear’s barking stops and she vaguely notices John and Harold walk towards her. Her face feels hot and wet. She begins pulling at the grass frantically. She wants to just disappear into the soil. She feels disgusting. Why did she do that?

Root feels a leg touch her’s. Harold is next to her, patting her knee. She doesn’t look at him. He probably looks worried. John has probably gone to find her. Shaw. She decides to stay a bit longer. Digging her painted nails into the earth. 

They sit there until the air bites at their bare skin and the sun gets heavy in the sky. Root finds her fingers are ice cold, dug into the soil so hard she can barely feel where she ends and the dirt begins. Fitting. 

Harold is still there, just next to her, unmoving and calm. He doesn’t expect anything of her. She wants to push him over, tell him to ask her what happened because she knows he wants to. But he’s just so stoic, sitting there, respecting her feelings. Her breathing picks up again. 

She’s disgusting, she tells herself. Why would she think it was ok to do that? She was just so wrong, ruining everything with her damned feelings. Her fucking feelings. Now she dragged Shaw down with her and she’s ruined everything that was good. She had to do that.  _ What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.  _

Her throat closes and her airway constricts. She can’t breathe right, her breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. Her eyes prickle with tears and she curses herself for being so weak. So human. She thought she was better than that, better than those who sit like dirt and grovel. She’s sitting there, acting like a child. Her mind flashes back to the library. She wants to throw up.

Suddenly there’s a hand on her knee, and another grabbing her hand. She looks around her, disoriented, her eyes landing on Harold. He’s standing over her, worried, trying to coax her up. She resists at first, wanting to simply bury herself into the ground, but eventually his grip leads her to her feet, and she walks with him.

Harold doesn’t speak to her. Root doesn’t know if she’d hear him if he did. He lets go of her hand almost immediately, and keeps his distance, simply leading her back to the car. The walk there felt so much longer, maybe the sun had warmed their bones and made them lethargic, but now Root finds herself face to face with Shaw again. 

She tries to greet her, come up with a witty quip. She falls short.

* * *

 

Shaw leaves as soon as they pulled into the motel, wordlessly taking off in the direction of the town. They let her go, knowing she isn’t to be bothered in her state. 

John checks them in, while Harold and Root sit in the overly-silent car, startled when he reopens the door to grab some of their bags. 

“I got us two rooms,” John says, dangling the keys in his fingers; Root swipes one set at random from his hand, either way she’ll be alone in her room, and that’s the only thing that matters to her right now. 

John and Harold easily share a room, and neither of them particularly want to deal with Root or Shaw right now. They all just want to sleep soundly through the night for once. 

Or sound enough as the sound of various motel occupants surround them: most notably the yelling of both small children (who probably should be sleeping at this time), and some older men. Root prays to whatever deity there is that everyone calms the fuck down in time for her to get some sleep, as she grabs her bag from the truck bed and wanders down to her motel room alongside the two equally exhausted men. The three of them shuffle into their two separate rooms, exhausted beyond belief and dreaming of a soft bed to fall into. That dream is falters as Root flicks on the light, illuminating a 1960s esque room with one queen bed, rather on the small end, covered by cheesy floral bedding that matched the wallpaper. 

Root sighs and walks further into the room, choosing to sit down on the far of the bed, letting her bag drop heavily onto the floor. She knows she can’t sleep just yet, too overwhelmed to do anything but sit on her bed and stare at the wall, her eyes tracing the flowers. 

Eventually, she convinces herself to open her computer and do some coding, thinking maybe she can come back to the sleep issue later. She needs to calm down, so maybe, she convinces herself, the feel of the keys under her hands and the familiar lines of code will lull her back to a semblance of “alright.” Slowly, she digs her laptop out of her bag and sits.

Somehow it seems to work, because over two hours pass without her noticing, having completely shut down her sense of self and immersed herself in her work. She is drawn out of this state by a scraping at her lock, and the image of Shaw stumbling in.

“Fuck no,” Shaw slurs, turning in place and almost slamming the door. 

She watches as Shaw simply stands at the entrance, seeming to fume at the prospect of sharing the bed with her. John must have lied and told her that she was sharing with him, or alone. Root feels hurt, but shrugs it off as she grabs her toothbrush and goes to the bathroom. Completely detached from the situation now, she wonders how safe the water in the sink is, and decides on not and uses her refillable water bottle to brush her teeth instead. 

She leaves the bathroom, finding Shaw sitting on the bed with her back to her. She rummages in her bag to find her pjs, then strips her shirt off, almost hoping to feel Shaw’s eyes ogling her back. She feels sick again, remembering where those thoughts got her mere hours before. Of course Shaw doesn’t, and Root almost thinks she hears a noise of disgust from behind her. This prompts her to rush and yank on her bottoms quickly and slip into bed, feeling small and trying to hide behind her computer. 

Shaw slips into the bathroom without a glance at Root. She hears the water go on and off and a few thuds because even Shaw’s tiny limbs can’t manage the tiny room. Root normally would smirk and tease her, but her chest feels weighted down. 

She closes her eyes tight, blocking out the blue of her computer screen and rubbing her eyes. Her brain betrays her and replays Shaw’s words over and over and over, peppering them with more that have been thrown at her, hyping herself higher into an unseen panic. 

So when Shaw yanks open the door, slamming it into the wall, with her teeth bared in a distinct frown, Root explodes. 

“What is it?” Root snarls, her voice higher and more shaky than she intended.

Shaw’s mouth closes and her eyes widen, and she stands frozen in the bathroom doorway.

“Oh yeah,” Root laughs, sweeping her hand wildly to the bed, smacking her knuckles into her computer screen. She tilts her head and looks Shaw dead in the eyes and throws as much bile into her words as she can manage. “You wouldn't want to be near someone like me, in case it rubs off, right?"

Shaw’s mouth drops and Root lowers her gaze. The strength of her words doesn’t help the weakness Root feels, prone in the bed with only a thin blanket and a computer to protect her from a world of bigotry and violence. She slams it’s lid, and thrusts the computer off her lap and stands, the carpet feeling disgusting under her feet. She feels dirty all over. 

She turns her back to Shaw, still in the bathroom doorway, and curls her shaking hands into themselves. 

“You wouldn’t wanna be near me.” 

She turns her head and draws the words out at the other woman, frozen in place. Shaw stares at Root’s back with her eyebrows furrowed, processing the scene that had just unfolded. Her mind pulled over Root’s words and how she was still shaking gently from adrenaline or fear, Shaw couldn’t tell. Gently stepping out of the bathroom doorway onto the questionably worn-thin carpeting, Shaw does her best to walk without falling over onto the floor, or the bed, or any other place between herself and Root.

“Root,” Shaw manages without slurring when she makes it halfway to Root and leans on the bed, her eyebrows knitting together from the force of concentrating on translating drunk thoughts into coherent words. Root stalls her shaking breaths for a moment as if desperate to hear some sort of apology she knows isn’t coming. 

Shaw continues to bore holes into the back of Root’s neck with her eyes as she tries to bring herself to say the exact words she knows will mean nothing. As she lowers her gaze and drops heavily onto the end of the bed, the words fall out of her mouth like dead weight.

“I’m sorry.”

Root lifts her chin and squares her shoulders with all the strength she can will herself to have, her anger returning brokenly. She turns around slowly to face Shaw’s slumped profile, her heavy breaths falling in time with her own shaking, alcohol-fused ones.

“You’re sorry.” Half a fact and half a question, to which Shaw only nods.

“Shaw…” She starts and the woman in question looks up at Root standing next to her with an unreadable expression. “ _ I’m sorry. _ ” She throws the phrase back at Shaw and she flinches slightly at the spite in Root’s words.

“ _ I’m  _ sorry I’m a lesbian. I’m sorry you think that’s a fucking  _ bad  _ thing,” with the last statement, Root throws her head back and her arms wide, taking a few stumbling steps away from Shaw as if the violence from her words’ ricochet could hit her too. “I’m sorry I’m a fucking  _ DYKE, _ Sameen.” Root slings the weighted word, meeting her eyes with something that wasn’t quite kin to disgust. And something inside Shaw breaks.

“Look Root, this isn’t about you!” Shaw spits, and shoots off the bed alongside her words, closing the few feet between them until she is right in Root’s face. Root drops her hands to her sides and pulls her mouth into a feral smile, baring her teeth at Shaw, her eyes shining with disbelief. 

“So who is this about??” 

Shaw glowers, but does not drop her gaze from Root’s eyes, their faces inches apart. 

“Because last time I heard, I’m the only one in this room who’s fucked another woman; unless you have something to say, Sameen?” Root bites Shaw’s first name short, and cocks her head down and sideways at Shaw, eyes wide and incredulous. With a noise of disgust, she pushes Shaw away from her with her hands on each of her shoulders. Shaw stumbles backwards with a soft snarl, and she poises herself into a fighting stance. 

“Root!” Shaw’s voice is stone cold and her mouth looks like it could tear the woman in question apart, and Root balks at the ferocity. “You keep sticking your nose in my business, my issues, my problems,” Shaw punctuates each listed item with a threatening step forwards “and I am absolutely fucking SICK of it. Don’t you think I see you watching me??” 

Shaw steps forward again, and Root steps back, and falters. She watches Shaw’s jaw clench and breathes haltingly, bracing herself for whatever will come next. 

“All the fucking time, when I work out, when I eat, hell, you probably even watch me when I sleep.” Shaw’s voice is low and dangerous, slipping under Root’s skin like Shaw meant for it to. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides and her eyes filled with anger and malice; Root's eyes widen with shock, she shakes her head at the venomous words, wanting to take it all back, but she knows she is powerless to stop this fallout. Why can’t she just go back. Go back to before she dug herself into this hole. 

“Root, yesterday was the last straw.” Shaw takes a quick step towards Root, who shuffles away for she’s afraid of the words that are about to come. 

“If you had even any semblance of a line left, you fucking crossed it there! I told you: I’m not gay.” 

Shaw slowly advances closer and closer to the other girl (who is backed flush against the wall behind her and trembling), a predatory look flashes in her eyes. Root has seen Sameen Shaw ready herself for battle, it always started in the girl's eyes; the glare was something to be feared and Root panics at the thought of it being directed toward her.

A teasing, forced smile sits on her lips like a grimace, and tears are threatening to fall again but Root won’t let Shaw win like that, so she tries to blink them away. Shaw’s gaze grows ferocious at Root’s comment she stands stock-still, obviously biting back even worse words; she instead breathes out a sigh that smells like whatever whiskey she’d lost herself in that night.

They both breath heavy for a moment, anger pooling out into the same stretch of air between them until it is unbearable. Shaw is the first one to break the gaze, and when she does, Root lets the few tears drip down her nose and onto her lips where she tastes saltwater with Shaw’s words.

“Root, I-” Shaw stares at the patterned carpet near the door, pretending not to feel Roots’ eyes on her face as she tries her very fucking hardest to keep her face neutral and her voice steady. Root can feel her tension without the expression anyways. Shaw stutters for a few more seconds, but no words can escape her clenched jaw.

And Root realizes that for the first time in her life, she is seeing Shaw afraid. Root can feel the heat and muted terror radiating from the woman in front of her with her eyes closed, and Root sinks back into her body as one last teardrop makes its’ way down her face. 

“Shaw,” the woman in question hears a soft tone she never expected and feels her jaw clench at the unknown words to come/ahead. Root raises her arm and brushes her nails softly along Shaw’s bicep as she starts at the touch, opening her eyes at Root; Root opens her palm and settles it on Shaw’s arm fully, still shaking. The hand which pushed her away moments ago now beckons her closer. The other woman’s face betrays nothing but her eyes bleed wariness onto the rest of her face.

“We should probably go to bed, long day tomorrow and all,” Root says her voice strained, as she slips around shaw, walking to the bed, avoiding Shaw’s eyes.

Shaw stands in place and watches Root walk around to climb into bed. Shaw still looks stricken, her unreadably body seems to radiate tension. Root needs this to be over, not baring to hear anything more. She rocks slightly in the bed, wiping the tears off her face with the inside of her shirt. Her eyes are raw and her limbs feel sore as if Shaw’s words had been physical blows. 

The forced normalcy allows her to calm herself. She still doesn’t know what’s going on but she just wants this- whatever this is -to be over. She sniffles and wipes her face again on the sleeve of her shirt. She coughs a couple times and tries to make her voice sound like hers again. Her chest still feels tight. After a heavy moment, Shaw joins her in their bed. Her eyes turned away as she walks over, and laying in bed, her back to Root. 


	8. Texas:Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we saw all the comments on the last chapter, and all we want to say is: as a group all three of us decided that while yes her out burst is harsh, a lot of people have gone through that and at that young of an age Shaw probably wasn't the best at keeping her thoughts to herself. so pls understand where we are coming from. as for this chapter we had to split it into two parts because it got a little lengthy

“Texas is fucking massive, oh my  _ god,”  _ Shaw says while looking at the expanse in front of them, trying to navigate with the dinky gps on the dash. She smacks it roughly, seeming to hope to affect the quality of its navigational skills. She glares out the window, looking like she would fight the small rural homes as they pass them by. 

“You’ve said,” Harold responds. He is working at his computer in the back seat, planning more of their trip on his own map app. “But what no one has said, is what you guys want to do while we’re  _ in  _ Texas.”

“I vote NASA,” Shaw responds, placing her tongue into the bag of popcorn to retrieve a piece, for some reason she prefers this to using her hands. She props her feet up on the dash and takes out her phone. 

“Nerd,” John fake-coughs, earning a solid punch to his shoulder from Shaw. “Hey! I’m driving!”

“I second NASA,” Root says, leaning towards Shaw and winking, somehow making the acronym sound sexual to Harold poor, innocent ears. He has to admit, that was sounding better to him than what seemed like never ending tense silence. 

“Not fair, Root’ll second anything Shaw says! She’s gay.” 

Unlike times before, what would have been another punch to his shoulder is a tense silence.

“NASA it is,” Harold says, trying to keep the normalcy and typing it into his computer and adding it to the GPS’ road plan. A large red pin appears on screen and the ETA appears. “I have taken the liberty to plan an event of my own choosing, I hope there will be no protesting?”

“What is it?”

“As you may know, Austin is hosting a large parade this weekend and we will be able to attend if we keep at this pace.”

“What parade?” Shaw asks skeptically.

“Pride.”

“Like… gay pride?”

“Exactly, Miss Shaw.” 

Shaw says nothing, but everyone knows what that means. Root just falls back into her seat, frantically petting Bear and looking utterly distraught. Harold begins to gather what the silences were about, and regrets his offer. Harold is startled, having assumed that the tension was more sexual in nature like normal, but that was harsher than he expected. Apparently nothing was resolved after their night in a hotel room together.

“Miss Shaw, please! Don’t be rude.”

“Ok now we have to go,” John says, looking over at the sulking Shaw, who now appears to be shoving as much popcorn into her mouth that it can hold.

Harold adds it as their next stop, they’d arrive in Austin in about 4 hours. As Shaw turns up her music in protest, Harold books them a hotel just out of the city. He settles all the arrangements online and scopes out the venue. 

As soon as he finishes he is left to fret about what just occurred in the car. He knew something happened, but he and John had been too far away to hear the words. All he saw was Shaw storming away, and Root practically catatonic, left alone in the middle of that field. The day was ruined and the poor girl’s mood greatly declined. What happened in Louisiana was a significant distracter, but it only seemed to postpone the inevitable confrontation between Shaw and Root. 

Harold doesn’t know what to do. He’s faced with confrontation from all angles. He’s still reeling from the aftermath of the accident and his own feelings, but now there’s this too?

He wonders if maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe it's the aftermath of all the hate crimes that happened earlier this summer. They were certainly terrifying and hit fairly close to home. He remembers reading about it all, feeling nauseous and angry and sad all at the same time. Root took it hard, he thinks. She's certainly a misanthrope, but sometimes she really cares too much. She's all or nothing like that. So maybe the tensions because of that, in part. He really isn’t sure if Pride is a good idea.

* * *

 

John looks around, scoping the colourful scene before him. The party seems to be already picking up, a few large rainbow groups off to his left, and shops throughout the street selling flags, shirts, food, and lots of alcohol. He smirks as he steps onto a rainbow painted crosswalk, and they pass under a large banner hanging from roof-tops that reads: “Pride Parade Austin 2016!”

In her defense, Root tries to avoid looking too ecstatic, but her demeanor ticks the exuberant mark, especially when she sees another new rainbow, and this passion does not help Shaw’s painfully sour mood. John hands over five bucks to a small pride merch stall, and buys Root a medium size rainbow flag, and Harold a small purple and grey hued one. For himself he abstains from a flag, and doesn’t offer one for Shaw out of fear for his own safety. 

When they first arrived John couldn’t place the look that he saw on Shaw, but as they walk over the rainbow, he sees it: anxiety. For one who rarely shows any emotion beyond sarcasm and anger, Shaw is wearing her poor stressed heart on her sleeve that afternoon. He so then directs the group into the small coffee shop, avoiding the chaos to potentially calm the situation down. 

“The usual?” John asks them, receiving nods in return. He leads Finch with him, slightly nudging the smaller man by his elbow, making sure to be on the non-Bear side so that the working dog isn’t distracted from his job. John hopes that Root can sort out Shaw’s pride-related issues while they fetch the drinks. 

Everyone knows that Shaw isn’t straight, despite her insistence otherwise, and he also knows it’s a miracle that she would even agree to come to Pride. He knows she’ll tell herself that she’s here for the rest of them. John hopes there’s a part of herself that is here for her too. 

John and Shaw have been friends for years. Ever since her dad died she’s been living in the tiny little apartment above his. They ended up learning a lot about each other’s skeletons in the closet, since the floors were extraordinarily thin and the vents carried sounds pretty well. This doesn’t lead for much privacy at all, so they have mutually resigned to knowing everything about each other. 

John still remembers back in freshman year, they had just started walking to school together and he was waiting in her front hall, surrounded by more of Shaw’s family than he could count. They pestered him with questions, asking if he was her boyfriend and the like. When Shaw got through the crowd she apologized and said something about some holiday. He remembers the moment so clearly because of the shock when an aunt or something suggested that Shaw must change clothes. She sent her back inside because she didn’t want people to think relative was a  _ dyke _ . He couldn’t see what was wrong with what she was wearing, she didn’t look any different than she did any other day. But Shaw had to change, and according to Shaw, John wasn’t allowed to meet her at her door after that. 

“Is Sameen ok?” Harold says softly as they continue to wait in line.

“I don’t know,” John replies honestly, looking back at the other two. Root seems to be trying to talk but Shaw barely listening, her face blank and her stare across the way. John squints and sees what his friend is looking at: a group of protesters cordoned off by a few beat cops. He sighs. 

“I don’t think she accepts it yet.”

“Accepts what?” Harold asks. 

“All this,” John says and picks up the flag on the counter and waves it a bit. 

“Ah, well this could be good for her,” he raises his eyebrows a bit, the Harold equivalent of a coy look, hinting that maybe it’s good for more than just Shaw. 

“Let’s hope so,” John replies, then raising his voice for the barista, “Hi, can I get a black iced coffee with a bit of sugar, a iced mocha frappé, an iced cap with a vanilla shot, and a sensha green tea if you have it?”

“Is that all, sir?” 

He nods in response, and ruffles slightly at being called sir, he feels a little more grown up in that moment. Things are feeling ok again. Even though it seems that this trip has been one minor explosion after another. 

“That’ll be $12.85 with your pride parade discount, have a great day!” The girl smiles as she takes his money, and speedily gives him the appropriate change. 

“Do you know what happened with them?” Harold asks, hesitantly. 

“No,” John replies, “I think Shaw pushed Root away. Probably said somethings. I’m not too sure.”

He looks back over at Shaw whose neutral expression reveals little to her stress, having placed a mask of indifference to Root’s emphatic chattering. At least Root is talking again, but she seems to be doing so warily, not opening up as much as usual. John and Harold return to the table, and John hands Shaw her preferred drink and taking a soothing sip of his own. He hopes the parade will be as joyous as the colours promise. 

As they walk along the street to find a suitable spot, John falls away from the group slightly, getting caught in the growing mass of protesters. There’s about fifteen of them, all holding signs and posters, hyping themselves up about the injustices in the world and the sin of love. A few cops stand to the side, lingering to protect both sides from violence. 

An old, crusty man grabs John’s shirt, and yanks him into the crowd. John reacts calmly, pushing the man away from him with firm hands as he’s drawn further into the group, their signs hitting him and their yells getting louder and more angry.

There’s a scuffle around him and he wonders if Shaw has come to his rescue, the little knight in black leather armour she is. The thought is forgotten as their bigoted chants reach his ears, and some woman spits in his face.

“Let’s all settle down now,” John tries to placate them in his gruffest tone, pulling himself away from the man’s grasp. “You have no business being here.”

“Faggots like you deserve hell,” the man yells. 

“Why don’t you let god decide it then!” He feels Shaw’s hand around his arm and he is yanked out of the crowd. “Just fuck off and let us have fun.”

John is still facing the lot of them, rearing for a fight, but the cops round from the other side, so they back off quickly. Luckily for them they still look pretty young so the protesters are the one who take the blame for the scuffle, being sent further up the street, away from the parade lines. 

“Shit,” Root says, “You ok, John?” John shrugs off Shaw's hand and gives tosses a small nod in Root's direction. “Good. Those guys, they don’t even make any sense. At least use a little bit of logic in your argument. Like-  _ ‘Homo sex is a threat to national security!’  _ I mean, I am a threat to national security, but I don’t think that’s anyway related to how I have sex.”

“I’m sure you would find a way, Root,” Harold replies sagely.

Shaw looks slightly satisfied as she watches a group of counter protesters raising a giant rainbow flag and holding signs about God’s love, blocking the fanatics from view. John breathes a dual sigh of relief, for a lack of real confrontation, and for Shaw’s calmness. Shaw always seems to be more at equilibrium after she gets to punch something. 

As they get closer to the heart of the action, they pass countless street vendors lining the streets, selling and giving away tons of colourful merch and swag bags. Various community organizations have booths along the street, all advertising their group with pamphlets and stickers and temporary tattoos. John gets a few condoms thrown his way with a wink. There’s many groups of people selling flags for any orientation one could think of, and even larger corporations selling their product, but gay-ified. They even see companies like Friendizar and Search & Retrieve opening stalls to give away products bearing their rainbow logos. 

“Ah capitalism,” Root says. 

Even with her comment she excitedly gathers masses of free rainbow stickers of all sort, moving from station to station making small talk in a way that John had never seen her have the urge to do. He doesn’t know her like Shaw or Harold does, but her connection to humanity has always been precarious and John often feels a gut wrench when he thinks of his own part in that. So this behaviour is different, more of the Root he has recently met over the road trip- one who smiles, laughs and makes sincere eye contact. John remembers back when he knew her just in school, he felt shunted due to her disdain for all people in the school, well except Shaw. 

To Root, John was always Harold’s helper monkey or the dumbass who caused the accident, but now John watches her place a flower crown on his head with a smile. Harold takes one for himself smoothing his prickly hair with his left hand and trying to arrange it so that it didn’t fall. 

John personally thinks they’re pretty nice, being silk flowers artfully arranged in circlet shaped arrangements, he puts his on immediately. He sadly watches as Shaw shoves her’s in her back pocket, disappointed but not surprised in her refusal to participate in the gay merriment. At his pointed look, Shaw shrugs defensively, saying that it won't fit on her head while she wears a ponytail. That is a stark improvement from her disgust in the car. The shop owner coos at her for deciding to keep it, even as Shaw stalks away.

Decked out for the parade, they continue walking the street. The excitement is picking up now, with the sound of chatter and activity beginning to fill the street. Bear’s ears prick up, alert to Harold’s needs, making sure the coast is clear allowing Harold to move freely without fear of hurting himself. If John didn’t know any better he would have pitied the dog, not having the ability to enjoy all the smells of the excitement and the pets from strangers, but John has seen how much Bear loves his job helping Harold. That dog has a pretty good life. He reminds himself to give Bear extra pats when he’s off duty later tonight. 

* * *

 

Seeing various people taking their food to go, munching their snacks as they walk down street, Shaw decides that they should all get something good to eat before the parade starts. Her jaw drops at a giant sign that advertises “Cock dogs” in bright red letters, surrounded with detailed images of anthropomorphized phalluses.

“I’m getting a cock dog, anyone else in?” Shaw laughs at the sign, and she feels herself beginning to perk up. Maybe she could get into this whole pride thing if she can gorge herself on penis shaped hot dogs. 

Root scrunches her nose up when they turn the corner into the food pavilion, obviously smelling the roasting meat. Shaw laughs at her face, and excitedly walks up to the stall, ordering 2 large cock dogs, unable to keep a straight face as she does. The cooks seem to be used to the humour of their profession, smiling and laughing but not with the degree of novelty that Shaw feels. After watching them cook the food in front of her, Shaw forks over a whopping ten dollars for the two hot dogs, and grasps one in each hand by the stick rammed into the base.

The others have moved away to grab food of their own. Root is naturally by the smoothie stall, grabbing what is probably called  _ Sapphic Strawberry  _ or something like that. John and Harold are closer to Shaw, grabbing sandwiches from the “Trans-witches” booth. She decides she needs to show off the dicks to them first, so she rounds the corner and stands beside them, swirling her tongue around the tip in the most gratuitous manner she can manage. John just laughs, boring her, but the look on Harold’s face as his eyes trace her tongue is worth the hell of all the rainbows that surround her. He stutters, trying to make a comeback but fails, deciding to spare his dignity by turning away and furiously petting Bear. 

Winking at the boys, she lets them order their food from the group of ladies dressed as witches, and then she joins Root who’s waiting for her smoothie. Shaw stands next to the girl, watching as the people behind the counter put various fruits and gag-worthy vegetables into a blender. As she watches the people, Root watches her with intense interest, her eyes lingering on her mouth as she finishes her first cock dog. 

“Why do you insist on watching me eat?” Shaw asks her with her mouth full, irritated. 

“Food-kink,” Root replies, sounding dead serious, making Shaw wonder how much Root says is actually sarcasm. But suddenly as if her brain catches up to her mouth, Root’s eyes widen, and Shaw catches a glimpse of the girl back in the motel room. The one Shaw pretends she never caused to be revealed, and feels sick every time she remembers. 

Despite herself, Shaw is still having a good time with these cock dogs so she pulls out her phone and opens snapchat, and sends a photo of herself licking the side of the cock dog to Zoe with the winky emoji as the caption.

“If you like the fake phalluses so much, I saw a cute little shop where I could get a nice one for us to try together,” Root says, too casually. 

Shaw almost chokes on the hot dog as a vivid image of Root wearing a silicone penis passes through her brain. 

She coughs a few times, saying, “fuck off,” earning a bubbling laugh. With that, Shaw begins to think they might go back to normal. She hates what she said, and knows that they’ll have to talk about it eventually. Right now she focuses on her surroundings, and Shaw gets a brief reprieve from the conversational and emotional stress as Root takes her drink and inserting the straw. 

Unfortunately for Shaw, Root continues to watching her eat, but  _ now  _ she is gazing at her while playing with her smoothie straw in an obscene way. Shaw frantically looks at her phone, and is relieved as she realizes that the parade will start any minute now and she can focus on anything else but Root’s sexual overtones. 

She can’t tell what is worse, fighting with Root or this. Surprising herself she realizes that this is much preferable to whatever happened in Mississippi. 

With more zeal than she feels, Shaw herds Root to John and Harold, and leads them back into the road, claiming a spot that seems to be free enough from crowds so to not overwhelm them, but also directly on the parade route. She gets settled with her arms resting on the metal fence and resigns herself to hours of gay fun.

* * *

 

Root whoops as a group of completely naked old women on scooters passes her, throwing glitter on the audience as presumably queer-opera blasts from their speakers. Root turns and finds Harold laughing and cheering as loud as the rambunctious teens to their right are. One lady closest to them has a confetti cannon, and before she has a chance to duck and close her mouth, Root gets a face full. She spits it out and wipes her eyes, too high on excitement to really care. It makes up for it to see John with a face full of sparkles and Shaw laughing at him, having seen it coming and ducking behind her much taller friend.

Root wipes her eyes and turns back to the parade, leaning on the warm metal bar and feeling the sun on her cheeks. The next group is some big sports drink, claiming that even if you’re gay they still want you to buy their drinks. See? They even made it rainbow coloured for you. Buy it now. 

They walk by, giving out stickers and the occasional t-shirt. Their float has a fountain on it with almost naked muscular men bathing in sports drink. Root cringes as she thinks about how sticky that would be as it dries. Even for pride it’s a little weird. Even in comparison to the next group, which are the kinksters.

Now Root isn’t that vanilla herself, she admits, but she sees some things that surprise even her. There is a group of people on leashes, lead by women, men and those who don’t identify or present as either. Some furries then walk by, mostly wearing leather dog masks and howling. Surrounding them are more casual looking people, some naked and some in t-shirts that reads, “Ask me about my kinks!” hey are handing out pamphlets, little bottles of lube, and condoms. An older gentleman gives Harold all three, giving him a kind smile and a pat while looking at John. 

“I’m going to kinkshame this entire parade,” Root laughs, looking at Shaw who can’t help but laugh in response.

Root follow’s Shaw’s gaze as her eyes never leave one tall brunette women dressed in leather. She wonders if Shaw’s into that sort of thing, but given the flick of Shaw’s tongue wetting her own lips and the new nervous look on her face, Root doesn’t have to wonder any longer. She files that away for further reference. 

“Wouldn’t they get too hot, all dressed up in leather like that,” Harold asks, concerned. 

“Maybe  _ that’s _ their kink,” responds Shaw.

Some people in the group wave simple pride flags, but others bear images of various dildos and butt plugs and more. Root sees things she doesn’t even recognize and makes a mental note to spend more time on that part of the internet. A woman about ten feet away from Root catches her eye and winks, shaking her hips and flaunting a phallic device strapped on over her pants. 

“Enjoying yourself, Root?” John teases her, seeing her open mouth. Root realizes and shuts her jaw fast and tries to remain more neutral. She almost lets out a sigh of relief as the first wave of kinky people finish. 

Ending the stress, some youth help groups pass by, carrying tons of balloons in giant bundles and organizations. They focus on the younger people, so a couple of them come to talk to their group specifically and giving them pamphlets and buttons. Root receives a few on coming out, and one on mental health and being LGBTQ+, the latter of which she pockets quickly, not really feeling like dealing with the questioning looks. 

The next is a local library, giving out their pamphlets for their youth group and their collection of books focusing on queer issues. They play Macklemore and Katy Perry songs and look happy to be out of the library for once. This one younger lady, with bright blonde dyed hair, a low cut shirt and carrying tote bags of pamphlets and candy jogs up to them, squealing about how cute they are. 

“I feel like I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re my favourite,” she says with a strong Texan accent. She laughs, pinching Harold’s cheeks and patting him on the head. He reaches his hand up, pushing his glasses more firmly on his face.

He thanks her, expecting her to move along but she doesn’t budge, leaning over the fence and making conversation with the boy.

“Is this your first parade?” She doesn’t wait for a response, continuing by saying: “Oh my gosh you are just too cute, look at that flower crown.”

“Yes, it is. We were in town for the day and thought we’d stop by,” Harold politely responds, looking over as Shaw clears her throat. Root laughs as she sees why. 

“Ma’am?” Shaw says, her face beet red, “You are on my arms...” 

She looks down into the ladies cleavage, resting on Shaw’s arms, the roundness of them almost directly into her face. 

“Oh sorry about that dear,” she winks, moving away. “You kids have fun!”

John almost suffocates in his laughing, slapping Shaw’s back and wiping away tears. The other two join in, John’s laugh being famously contagious. At this point Shaw has had enough, and stalks away in search of a trashcan “to throw up in.”

* * *

 

Shaw decides that eating is much more favourable than puking, so she scouts for another place where she can gorge on unhealthy food to attempt to fill the neverending void that is her stomach. She thought the parade to be over by now, but even as she walks down the sidewalk, the road is filled with a consistent stream of people waving flags.  As she leans against the counter overlooking the street, a tall girl moves in to block her view of the parade and grins. Shaw gives her a quick once-over, trying to be nonchalant but still noticing how her pastel blue lipstick looks fantastic in contrast to her darker skin and hair. 

“Hey there friend, you look like you’re having a blast,” she says, her bright eyes flashing mischievously in the late afternoon sun. Shaw feels her insides flip softly as the girl moves closer. Shaw tries to shut that down, focusing on responding.

“Yeah,” Shaw replies lamely, her eyes widening. She’s pretty sure the girl is flirting with her. But how are you supposed to react? No girl looks at her this way, besides Root, or Zoe (but only when she’s drunk). This girl is giving her The Look she gets from men at bars. 

“Not feeling your pride?” the girl asks politely, her tone probing and sweet. Shaw looks for a way to escape, but the people behind the counter haven’t noticed her need for service yet, too busy making food. 

The girl’s voice sounds so nice, Shaw thinks. Her intonation flowy and smooth, and nice. But Shaw shouldn’t notice shit like  _ that.  _ That’s something gay that Root would notice, and talk about. 

“Uh,” Shaw replies, trying to keep cool. If she doesn’t flirt back, the girl will know she isn’t interested, right? She shrugs. “It’s a lot to take in” 

“I’m Dani, by the way.”

Dani gives her a hand to shake, she accepts and they move them up and down firmly. 

“Shaw- uh Sameen.”

Why did she give Dani her first name? Everyone calls her Shaw. She’d punch anyone who would dare to call her that. 

“Nice to meet you Sameen. Are you just in town for the party?” 

“Uh, yeah you could say that. My friends dragged me here.” Shaw gestures towards her group, standing by the gates talking with another older group of people.

“That your girlfriend?” Dani asks, sounding almost shy. 

“Her? Oh, uh, no,” Shaw stutters, “I’m not- uh-” 

Dani looks startled. She squints at her and gestures to the bi pride flag in Shaw’s hands. Shaw immediately drops it, like it burned her. 

Shaw falters and says; “Someone just gave this to me.” 

“Nah dude its ok,” Dani says, bending down to pick up the flag off the floor, not looking as awkward. She leans onto the counter and assures her that “Back at my first pride I thought I was straighter than an arrow.”

Shaw gawks. 

“But sometimes,” Dani gestures at Root, John, and Harold who chose the time to whoop for whoever is passing by. “Your friends know you better than you know yourself. At least mine did.”

“I doubt that, we’re here for one of our friends. She’s gay.”

“Or maybe, sometimes strangers know you pretty well.” 

She winks. Shaw doesn’t know why this girl is still chatting her up. She’s  _ not  _ interested. Are all lesbians like this? 

“So you say you’re straight. So besides  _ men,  _ what are you into? You feel like a sports and science kind of gal. Lacrosse, maybe soccer?”

Maybe if she engages with the girl she’ll go away? Shaw spots a bell on the counter and rings it twice, praying that the staff will finally take her order, then she can finally return to her friends and suffer in peace, away from this persistent girl. 

“Rugby,” Shaw finally responds, giving into the girl. “Hockey and soccer too.” Why couldn’t she be ugly, that would make this easier. Shaw can’t help but watch the girl’s lips as she speaks. 

“Sweet, I played rugby last year. Tore my hamstring, so I had to switch to swimming, ‘cause it’s low impact, right? Let’s my hold my breath for a long time,” she finishes with a wink. “What position do you play?”

“Defense. You?” Shaw felt herself warming up to the girl in more ways than one. A blush creeps up her cheeks at the implication, and she has intruding thoughts about that one particular innuendo. 

“Makes sense. Offense for me. I can show you a few tricks later, if you want.” She licks her lips, and sweeps a hand through her thick curls. Shaw realizes in that moment that she doesn’t stand a chance against her. She swallows and puts her weight against the counter, hoping to ground herself to reality. The girl seems to see this and continues, “Maybe I can get past the goal line.”

Shaw feels like she’s falling over, but due to her stoicness it only reveals itself as a slight widening of her eyes. She watches as Dani’s microexpressions register that as a victory. 

“There’s this sweet pride afterparty at this place down by the river,” Shaw is already nodding before she finishes. She would agree to anything at this point. She wants to scream at herself for her weakness but the sparkling of the girl’s eyes shut any complaint out of her brain. The girl looks away momentarily, and Shaw swoops her eyes down, taking in the girl’s crop top and the firm sight of her abs. She almost drools. Her eyes shoot back up as the girl says: “And it looks like my friends are already making your friend’s acquaintance. Want in?”

Shaw nods rapidly, saying: “Sounds good.”

Oh god she sounds thirsty. 

“But we’re thinking of skipping town soon,” She continues, trying so fight back for her casualness. “So I’d have to ask them.”

And finally, after this girl has broken down all her defenses, and as if on cue the worker finally comes to the till and asks her if he can take her order. Shaw sighs and tears her eyes away from the other girl’s smirk. 

“Yeah, I’ll get a large fries.”

She hands him a five dollar bill. She watches him fetch her the food, and feels Dani’s eyes on her profile. It almost feels nice. The fluttering she felt in her stomach is back, and she can’t help but be reminded of the time she first hung out with Carter. How she was so cool, and older, and had all these self-defense tips. Or the time Zoe drunkenly kissed her, and her stomach jumped into her throat. Or the time Root-

“Here you go, enjoy,” the employee says, handing her the paper carton. She nods and rips it out of his hands, immediately opening it and stuffing a handful of fries in her mouth. She ignores Dani’s presence as they return to their spot, apparently Dani and her friends were right next to them the entire time. Shaw hates herself for not being so observant.

* * *

 

John watches as Shaw slows her pace as they near the rest of them, shifting where he stands as Shaw allows the girl walk next to her. She’s acting very unlike herself, walking close to the other girl, her eyes lingering where they usually don’t and her tongue wetting her lips often. John glanced at her throughout her interaction with the tall girl, seeing as Shaw’s defenses were destroyed by her charm, and how the normally hostile girl began to actually smile. As if by chance, the girl is from the group stationed next to them. John worries as he tries to keep a neutral expression, Harold seems to be enjoying his conversation with the tall the shorter boy, Daizo, and so John says nothing to get them out of a potentially explosive situation. 

John isn’t sure if it’s a strange case of co dependency, or what, but the four of them aren’t that good at getting along with others. They barely get along with each other. So Harold and Shaw obviously making nice with the new people is setting off a lot of red flags in John’s head, the whole situation calling for disaster. But it’s pride! It’s meant for parties, happiness, gaiety etc. 

As if sensing John’s fears, Root squints at Shaw, her expression colder than usual, her face absent of the grin that was there all day. John sighs. He’s not sure what happened between them, but this  _ thing  _ has only delayed the inevitable. He doesn’t know what the inevitability is but it’s going to happen. They’re going to collide, like binary stars, and they’re either going to explode or consume each other. John doesn’t know what he’d prefer.  

“I’m glad you’ve been mingling,” the tall girl by Shaw’s side says cheerily, looking between the groups before grabbing Shaw’s hand dragging her to the fence and resuming their parade watching. 

John shrugs, waiting for the shit to hit the fan and tries to actually talk with their new  _ friends. _ Maybe they’ll make new contacts over here, and everything will be fine for them to move on and finish their road trip. 

He learns that Shaw’s new friend is named Dani Silva, and the other two are named Daniel and Jason. Dani seems a little out of place with the three boys, them seeming more Harold’s taste than hers. 

The parade ends with a bang, having politicians and various big companies and famous people taking up the rear. John only recognizes the politicians, looking awkward as if their publicists made them go. John smirks as he can feel Shaw as she rolls her eyes, refusing to high five them as they past, hating the play to get The Gays on their side. The lack of genuineness is disappointing, but John plays along and waves his rainbow flag nonetheless. 

Just as the last floats pass by, and people begin packing up to go to the concert in the town square, their attention is taken up by Daizo, the only one giving Shaw a run for the shortest one here. 

“Hey do you guys want to grab food with us?” He asks them, his voice slightly lisped from her braces and accent. As he speaks, he looks at her friends for confirmation, to which they nod in response. 

“Sure,” Shaw says without checking with the others, knowing they’re usually up for anything, and not really wanting to hear a refusal from someone. Better ask for forgiveness than permission, or neither, as Shaw usually does. Anyways, she’s hungry and locals know the best places. Shaw doesn’t wanna end up in a crappy diner or olive garden again.

“Great!” The boy grins, his eyes closing even more in a cheery smile, “Cause we know this awesome local place a few blocks away that’s run by this agender couple, right?”

She gestures for them all to begin walking, leading them down the street. Dani and her friends walk naturally, but John and Root take a moment, glancing at Harold for a second before they, too, set off.  The boy, whose name Shaw has already forgotten, keeps talking, not noticing the pause, “So one’s from Taiwan and the other Italy, both first gen.”

The group nods in agreement, the small boy and the other two not noticing the other’s hesitation. He grins, and brushes his hand through his short black hair. 

The taller boy pipes up, his face round and joval and his voice high and cracky, “So the menu has both classic Italian meals and amazing Thai food. Like side by side there’s Pad See Ew and  Maltagliati. It’s incredible.”

* * *

Daizo wasn’t lying, the meals were amazing, and Harold almost wanted to ditch the party for a long night’s sleep after the fun of the day and the nice filling dinner. But here they are, and the party is already going. Harold and the group walk up the cobblestone drive and watch as a gaggle of girls open the door and cheer as they are met by their own friends. 

Harold gulps, hearing the thudding music from outside and looks up at John, seeing the taller man’s features set in a straight determined line. The two of them seem to have the same mindset about parties: they are only good when they’re short and sweet. Longer than an hour or so is when bad things start to happen. 

Inside is already chaotic, people are everywhere and there is not a dull colour in sight. There are multiple people wearing pride flags as clothing and a few barely wearing anything at all. Harold swears he sees rainbow coloured shots, and he worries that something might be on fire. As they begin to push through the crowd to find a place of their own, Harold is pushed and shoved and grinded against at all angles. As they move towards the action, the music grows to be almost deafening. Harold realizes he needs to be much drunker to appreciate this. 

They pass the living-room-turned-club, and pass what seems to be the make-out couches and enter the kitchen. That serves a dual purpose of giving them a place where they can get drunk, and hear each other when communicating softer than a shout. 

Their new friends seem right at home, and Harold guesses that they party here often enough. Dani waves at another group of people, and runs to hug a tall man wearing only some tight boxers and flip flops. He talks excitedly to her, and walks over to the kitchen island and pulls out some beer, handing them out to their group and then passing around a bottle opener. Harold momentarily has to let go of Bear’s leash to open the bottle, and he doesn’t like that at all. Places like this make him nervous; so much can go wrong. 

Harold decides to let the party happen, so he sips the light beer, and enjoys the continuations of conversations from dinner, and smiles politely as he’s introduced to new people. He learns that the group are students at the University of Texas, and this is the go-to party house, even in the summertime after the school year ends. Soon, Harold gets whisked away by Jason to play some party games (drinking games), and then the party  _ really  _ begins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: we had a little mix up with this chapter and the next, sorry for the confusion!


	9. Texas:Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay but just know that another chapter will be posted tomorrow as well  
> alright so here is the part two of texas with just as much heat

A few hours later, Root turns from the bar, another drink in hand and teeters as she walks back into the living room. She sees Shaw lounging on the floor, back to the couch animately talking to some guy. His name is something dumb like, Romeo, or something. No… Thomas? Root doesn’t care. She takes a sip of her drink and cringes as she sits on the floor, making sure to leave no space between her and Shaw. The group welcomes her and this girl she hasn’t met before leans into her shoulder and begins talking to her as if they are long friends. 

The floor is cold and nice against Root’s slightly drunk body, and the calmness of this circle is stark against the grinding mass of bodies in the other room. The music is still earsplitting and she wonders if the cops might shut them down. That might make things interesting; Root has always wanted to steal a police badge. 

She looks around at the room, a large tv takes up most of the wall to her left, next to the door that leads to the kitchen. The room is filled with a large couch on which Root is leaning, and two plush chairs across from her. In the first chair there’s these two guys making heart-eyes at each other, and ignoring that there’s other people in the room. In the other is a seemingly sober girl, sipping a fruity looking shot like it’s tea. Root is impressed to the girl’s creativity in making herself a crop top of a rainbow flag. 

She forces herself to listen to the girl’s drunken story, as the group is all seemingly intrigued to what poor wasted Marie has to say about her girlfriend dumping her at pride. Root thought she escaped that kind of boring drama by not being straight, but unfortunately it seems to be universal. 

Not universal enough for Shaw to seem interested, because there she sits, moving away from the group to talk to the guy, who’s touching her and making her laugh. Shaw isn’t moving away nor hitting him nor rolling her eyes; all things that she would have done if Root was making those advances. She can’t help but feel a quick punch to the gut as she notes this, realizing that maybe Shaw doesn’t actually like her the way she likes Shaw. She was the same way with Dani earlier, before the girl had to leave. Root was relieved when she finally saw the back of her head, retreated into the crowd. She felt nauseous all evening, watching them flirt while Shaw ignored Root. 

But she shouldn’t care, Root tells herself. People shouldn’t matter to her that much. She shouldn’t feel this bad about Shaw, if Shaw doesn’t show interest in her. Why make the effort?

She slams her drink down, startling poor Marie and making her eyes well up in tears. Root realizes she hasn’t listened to a word the girl said and feels a distinct pull on her insides, all twisted with anger. She reaches out to pat the blonde on her shoulder as her other friend takes her home, it’s decided that Marie has had too much partying for one night. 

So Root is left fifth wheeling. On her left, these two guys that Root is sure just met are making out furiously, their tongues slurping from one mouth to the other, and teeth knocking in a way that Root can almost hear it over the music. She watches them for a long, horrifying moment, then moves her eyes onto the agonizing flirting to her right. They’re talking about guns. 

His Texas accent is stronger than Root’s own, naturally. Root only has it when she’s tired, as she’s told. Harold said it’s endearing but Shaw just rolled her eyes. Root’s family was all from here, but trying to assimilate to New York, whatever she got from her mother is gone. Good riddance, Root thinks as she hears this guy drone on and on about weapons. The tool’s interest lies in hunting, so he only knows about shotguns and rifles. Lame. Shaw isn’t really into that kind of thing. She likes sniper rifles, handguns, and explosives. Like Root. Shaw would never hunt animals for sport, people are a much more interesting  and challenging target. But Shaw doesn’t say that, she just listens to him talk about the guns and let his hand rest on her leg. 

Root can’t take it anymore. She gets up, and leaves without anyone even seeing her. She leaves her drink on the kitchen counter and walks outside. She’s done with this night. Root just wants to be out of that building, away from Shaw. She could just disappear. She’s done it before. Shaw doesn’t care enough about her either way. She’s only here for John. And John’s here for Harold. Why was she even invited on this trip? They all don’t really like her that much.

Root stumbles outside. Apparently wasn’t alone in this desire to escape the building as there’s already a crowd on the deck, smoking and drinking, and a few people jumping into the small pool with their clothes on. Root almost shivers at the thought, and decides a little cancerous smoke is better than being sopping wet. 

She saunters over to the edge of the deck, and leans against the railing with more confidence than she feels. She watches as the drunken people swim about in the pool. She’s better off just leaving them alone, she concludes. She’s always been separated from them. Harold doesn’t approve of anything she does, he just  _ cares  _ too much. About everyone. He just wants to train her. Make her care like him. And John. John never liked her, he doesn’t pretend to either. And Shaw?

A familiar feeling pounds through her veins, making her light headed. She can't ignore the voice in her head that tells her to run and never come back. Come back home. Because that's what Texas is supposed to be right? Home? She still has hints of the famed accent, the tolerance for heat, the….

Root leans onto the brick wall of the house, she lets her head smash into it, relishing in the sharp sting of brick against stone. 

Why didn't she say anything? Harold would understand? Would he? She never even told him about…. About what happened. Why she left. Why she's back and why she wants to run away and never ever return. 

Because that's what she did before, right? She ran away from Bishop and all that is there. Or was there. And she left a trail of sadness and misery behind her. And now she's back. She laughs humorlessly and let's her head but he wall again. She's back because of a stupid road trip and her friends.

Root is just pretending. She's pretending to  _ care _ , to be a normal person, to not be a killer. But she is. She's Root. She knows how and wants to. It’s just chance that she hasn’t yet. 

On top of that she’s just a kid that's making up stories and got her only friend hurt because she made them work at the library late. 

And now look at them. Harold is hurt for life, John will never be the same, and she's somehow tricked Shaw into liking her or something. 

She might as well get it over with and leave. End the charade of being  _ normal _ . Because how could she? How did she dare screwing over there innocent people further? Why is she fooling herself to think she deserves them?

“Hey Eeyore,” a voice says, to Root’s right, and for a second she think’s it’s Shaw. But no, as she turns she finds that she’s looking down, only slightly at the girl. And when she searches for the scorching brown eyes, she finds bright blue. The girl takes Root’s behaviour as a good sign, and she moves closer. “Looking for someone?”

Root shakes her head, no. She isn’t. 

She stands up straight, taking a step to leave. To get out of their lives. To finish what she started all those years ago. She wobbles a bit, feeling the lightness that the alcohol has on her limbs and almost topples to the deck. The girl’s arm reaches out, grabbing her shoulder and steadying her. 

The grip is so foreign, so not Shaw. Not small and muscular and powerful and graceful. Still, the girl is pretty. Bright eyes surrounded by long eyelashes stare at her, a silent, concerned question in her expression. Root takes in the long blonde hair and her freckled pale skin. 

Root doesn't shrug her off, but instead, gives her that smile. The smile that she only uses to get people exactly where she wants. And for this girl, Root wants get into her pants. Just as she expected, the girl returns the smile, getting into Root’s space, revealing how they are both quite equally drunk. 

“I'm Martine,” the girl mutters, her breath mingling with Root’s, and her arms moving from her shoulder to around her neck, pulling her in closer. Root allows the movement, and let's her hands rest firmly on the girl’s waist, her little fingers falling on bare skin, left exposed by this girl’s floral crop top. 

Root pushes her around the corner of the house, not really feeling like giving everyone a show, but enjoying the feel of Martine’s pliant body beneath her hands. Root feels more and more drunk as they push their lips together. It's sloppy and quick and there is too much teeth, but Root could give two fucks, because she just wants to forget all that's wrong with her situation right now. 

“You can call me Root,” she whispers directly into the girl's ear, before biting down on the sensitive flesh underneath. Martine lets out a soft whimper and her hands creep up Roots shirt, and her hips grind into her own. 

Root leaves a trail of marks along the girl's neck, and Martine's hands began palming her stomach, sending warm shivers up Root’s spine. She relishes in the feeling of a stranger pressed up to her, about the anonymity she has. She's Root again and it feels good. The rush of this is the same as signing her code. She’s untraceable, unknowable. A ghost. 

But being this Root, the one that Samantha Groves has wanted to be, comes at a price. One of running away. And that's what she's doing now as she gropes a stranger in the side of a suburban house in a state that isn't her own. Not anymore. 

As she feels the other girl’s tongue slide against her own and tastes the fruity lip balm in her own mouth she can't help feel how  _ wrong  _ it is. She can still feel Shaw's lips on hers, but in the same memory she can feel her pushing her away again and again. Shaw's not a lesbian like her. Not a dyke. Not a faggot. Not a fucking homosexual. 

She pulls away slightly. Hearing it all again. All the things people have said, what's she's read, but they're all said in Shaw's voice. Root presses her lips back to the girl, feeling nauseous. 

She wants this, right? A quick fuck on pride? Like the  _ dyke _ she is?

* * *

 

The girl that John has been talking to for the past 5 minutes is now protesting as her much drunker friend is trying to lead her home. John decides to let her go, slipping her his number with a wink and a nudge towards the door. She was nice, and if it had been a better, more sober time, they might’ve had something. 

But tonight wasn’t for connections, it was for fun. And speaking of that, John is now realizing that he’s left Harold alone for awhile and he might have had a little too much fun unsupervised. John can faintly hear his laughing from the other room, over the loud music and the yelling. 

John makes his way through the bodies, expertly avoiding the grinding people trying to get him to join them, and balancing his pop in his right hand behind him. He doesn’t know what time it is but with the exhaustion beginning to seep into his bones he realizes it’s getting late. Without the push of alcohol he knows that he won't be going for as long as some people here. He digs his hand into his tight jean pocket, and extracts it to check to see that he has any texts. No texts but a solid minute of snapchats from Harold and a DM from someone who was in his biology class last year. He decides to find Harold first, and follows the familiar laugh into the dining room. 

The sight before him as he enters is something that will never cease to make him laugh. Harold is sitting smack in the middle of the table, cross-legged holding his glasses up and moving them away from and towards his eyes while smiling and laughing. He is  wobbling from right to left and his free hand is trying to pet Bear without much success. There are about ten other people in the room, consisting of multiple mostly-naked girls lounging on the table, petting the poor overstimulated dog and the others passing around a joint and what looks to be a pan of half-eaten weed brownies. 

John doesn’t laugh as he enters, his first thought is to make sure Harold is ok. He checks the whole situation for safety, but nothing seems immediate. 

“Harold…” John calls, projecting his voice over the music, “Are you alright?”

Harold looks at him from through his glasses, held at arm’s length. 

“Never been alrighter!” Harold beams, gesturing for him to come over. He then looks drastically serious, “But I might have been outfoxed.”

John clicks his fingers and points to the ground, and Bear jumps off the table and stands at attention. He doesn’t normally assume leadership over the service dog but Harold has obviously instructed the dog to stand down. Bear had likely been trying to help his master, but unfortunately he had been in control enough to reject the animal’s help. At least he wasn’t in any true danger, although if that was the case John is sure that Bear would have resumed his position as carer. 

“Finch?” John says, reaching out his hands, offering to lift him off the table. The girls around him laugh and make way. Harold scoots forward and leans into John’s hands with his shoulders. 

“Outfoxed,” Harold says, again, and half falls off the table. John catches him, and hands him Bear’s lead, and uses his arm over Harold’s shoulders to lead him away from the weed smoke. John wonders if he has to rescue anyone else tonight.

* * *

 

Shaw scoffs as the guy goes for a kiss. Everyone just wants to get laid at pride. It's worse than prom. Only it's now coming from every direction. As she walks through the crowd, almost everyone makes eyes at her. Not that they're not hot. Thomas is definitely hot. But so was Dani and so are most people here. 

She's not gay. She knows that. After the thought of Thomas fucking her senseless she's certain that she's not gay. But imagining the same thing with Dani… She's pretty sure that that would work out just as well. 

She's had a fun night. She met some cool people, and they kept the alcohol flowing. Root hung out with her for most of the night, but somewhere between drinking in the kitchen and chilling in the living room, she disappeared. 

Shaw doesn't want to apologize. She doesn't do that. But she also wants whatever's going on between them to go back to normal. Maybe it's the beer but she really wants to go home and sleep. Maybe share a bed with Root again. That was weirdly nice. 

Root isn't in the kitchen nor the basement. And she doesn't see her as she quickly passes by the dining room that emits a suspicious smell of skunk (it's weed). Shaw supposes Root went outside. She's not much of a partier. 

So Shaw emerges from the overheating house into the cooler Texas air. Shaw didn’t realized it, but hours must've passed because the moon is now high in the sky and the stars shine brilliantly against the dark blue. It was sunset when they arrived. She looks around, only seeing pool goers and smokers. Disappointed, she turns back around before she hears a recognizable voice. 

“You can call me Root.”  

Fire fills Shaw's veins because she knows that voice. She's only heard that voice directed at herself. Shaw knows exactly what is going on and curses everything. She feels her heart race, and her hands turn into fists, because this is her fault, and in that moment she certainly isn't sure how to fix it all.  

She follows the sound, turning the corner before watching in horror as Root makes out aggressively with some blonde against the house. Shaw charges forward, yanking the girl off Root with less force than she wants. The girl looks stunned then angrry, getting one look from Shaw before stumbling away, back into the house.  

Shaw doesn't look at her, only taking in the glazed over eyes that seem to stare accusingly right into her. 

“What do you want, Shaw?”

Root’s tone hasn't been that icy since Mississippi. Shaw is taken aback. Root turns, going after the girl but Shaw can't let her. She can't let her walk away.

“What?” Root growls while knocking her shoulder into Shaw’s own. “You can’t stand to see me with another girl, but you won’t kiss me yourself? Grow up. You don’t fucking own me.” 

Shaw grabs her wrist, spinning her then pressing her into the wall. She kisses her, hoping her body can say things that she can't bring herself to. It's desperate, needy, and rough, but it's over far too soon because as soon as Shaw opens her mouth, begging for Root to enter. Root shoves her away. 

Shaw backs away, her hands become fists again and she waits for Root to speak. The other girl opens and closes her mouth, words forming but not daring to leave her lips. 

Suddenly Texas feels too hot. 

Root cocks her head, her eyes clear as day, a stark contrast to the dull look she gave the girl. Shaw's heart stops beating, just for a second, then forceful hands reverse their position, Shaw's back to the house, and suddenly they're kissing for real. 

And instead of the brutal, angry, meeting of lips of moments ago, or the hesitant and one sided peck of days ago, this was real. Shaw's hands grip Roots hips tight, pulling her in, while Root tangles her fingers in Shaw’s hair. Roots lips are soft but powerful, and she feels, as her own rough lips dance with them, that Shaw would do anything those lips requested of her, if only she could keep kissing Root. Soon, Shaw realizes that there is so much more about Root that would make Shaw bend to Roots every will. The taste of Root’s tongue on her own, as they slide against each other, or the smell of Roots hair, or the soft, yet precise fingertips that caress her neck. The feel of her lithe body pressed against Shaw's own is everything she's ever wanted, and the soft whimper she makes as Shaw kisses along her jaw makes Shaw feel wobbly. 

Shaw cringes at herself for even thinking about fucking Dani or even Thomas, because sure they're hot, but not  _ this  _ hot. Shaw can feel heat pooling between her legs and she has to restrain herself from grinding her hips against Root’s own like a horney teenaged boy. Root pulls apart, just briefly, whispering Shaw's name before pushing them together once again, much to Shaw's delight. 

Shaw pulls herself back for a moment, staring into Roots eyes and opening herself up. Everything feels turned up to ten and the thudding of her heart and the flopping of her stomach are all she can think of. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, shaking her head, “I’m so sorry Root. I-”

Root cuts her off with a searing kiss before responding, “I know. We should talk but right now-” 

Shaw nods and Root pushes against her once more and all the guilt builds up in her. Why would she push her away when she could pull her close and feel like this? What was she thinking, saying those things to Root, when in reality she wants to say anything, do anything, that will make her look at her like she just did over and over again.

* * *

 

John covers his eyes as he calls out their names into the upstairs rooms that he just  _ knows  _ are filled with naked, writhing bodies. He hopes he doesn't find either of them here, but after whatever happened in the past few states, he really wouldn't be too surprised. 

Luckily for him, they are nowhere to be found. John drags Harold and Bear along, double checking the rooms before heading outside. He really hopes they didn't ditch them here, taking the truck to some hotel without texting him. He decides to check the backyard before getting mad. He's really only concerned about Harold because he looks like he's on the verge of toppling over as he stands. He needs to sleep it off and John wants to let him do that ASAP. 

“Have you seen two girls?” John says to the smoking boys right outside the door, “ones like yea high,” he holds his hand to mimic Shaw's minuscule height, “and-”

Before he has a chance to finish the one boy grunts and points to the side of the house, and then turns back and resumes their conversation. 

John furrows his brows, not understanding where the two of them could've gone. He assumes it's a path to the front of the house, so when he turns the corner and bumps into a passionately kissing Root and Shaw, all four of them are surprised. 

“What the fuck, John?” Shaw yells, still pinned to the wall by Root’s body. Root steps back, looking less smug than he would've expected. 

“We-” John gestures at their very high friend. “Harold needs to go home.”

Root looks at Harold and Shaw looks at Root. John doesn't know where to look, the vivid image of the tongues emerging from Root and Shaw's mouths is now permanently engraved into John's brain. It is decidedly better than his bedroom fears, but not by much. He decides to deal with one issue at at time, dragging Harold out of the party before things got any worse, trying to scrub his brain of memories of his two friends. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: we fixed this chapter too, thanks to the commenter who pointed out the mistake :-)


	10. Oklahoma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about all the confusion regarding out last chapter! We had a mix up on which version document we uploaded, but things should be on track now. We're thinking of switching to posting Saturday, Sunday, and Wednesday from now on, because that fits with our busy schedules.   
> Anyways, we hope you enjoy this chapter. There should be relatively smooth sailing from now on.

They had slept most of the day, only rising at two in the afternoon to eat, then returning to their beds to lounge around. They were fairly silent, not wanting to worsen their own hangovers, or earn the wrath of Harold in his pitiful post-high state. All day he was lying on his bed, cuddling Bear and groaning every time he moves. Shaw couldn’t help but laugh at the poor guy, thinking about all that he had said the night before to John, who wasn’t hungover. He said something earlier about being exhausted from the babysitting, or whatever. So, instead of moaning on the bed with Harold, he surfed the internet, catching up on the world. Shaw tried to do the same, but sitting on the same bed as Root wasn’t as easy task. Root seemed to feel the same, and so they both ended up seated on opposite ends of the bed, a breath away from falling off. All day Shaw has been trying to ignore the tension that falls over them.

She's not sure what triggered it, but she began thinking too much, moments ago, and she needed out of that room. She walks away from the tiny little hotel as fast as she can, searching for somewhere to relax. She manages to find a small trail, the red mud dry under her feet as wildflowers surround her on both sides. The sun is hot, and she begins feeling a bit sticky after a day in an air conditioned room. 

She can hear the running water before she can see it, and she’s both disappointed and pleasantly surprised by what she finds. She really wasn’t sure if she could find water here, and she found that even the search often helped her as much as finding it. But here it was, a small river about four feet wide, in the middle of a small forest only a few minutes from their hotel. She sits on a stone right by it, and watches the water, picking leaves off a nearby bush and throwing them in. 

She can’t remember every detail of the night before, but she knows what happened. She has no idea what to do about it, but if she doesn’t do something, the rest of the trip will be just like this: tense and no fun. She can’t just take it back? Can she?

She almost laughs at the thought of her walking up to Root and saying: “You know what happened last night? How we passionately made out against a wall? I take it back.”

Shaw wasn't even drunk enough for forget about it. In this moment, she wishes she had been. She groans and pulls out her phone from her pocket, unlocking it and pulling up her contacts list. She presses the name and hits dial, hoping that her nation-wide service covers this one particular riverside too. 

It rings and Shaw holds her breath. 

“Shaw?”

“Zoe.”

“What’s up?” Zoe responds casually, sounding distinctly pool-side. Shaw can picture the girl, lounging in the sun, clad in a bikini, with large sunglasses over her eyes. In her vision, Zoe is sipping lemonade or something, maybe reading a book. Shaw rolls her eyes, shaking herself out of her mental procrastination.

“I, uh, said some things,” she blurts in a panic, “To Root.”

“Like what?” Zoe asks.

“I was mad,” Shaw groans at herself, not really understanding for herself. “I felt-” she waves her hand around, hoping Zoe will get it.

“Out of control?” Zoe supplies.

“Yeah,” Shaw mutters. 

“Did you hurt her?” 

Shaw pauses, “I guess so.”

“Did you  _ want  _ to hurt her?”

“I don’t-” Shaw stutters, “I don’t think so. It just sort of happened. I felt all- weird and I hated it and I hated her for making me feel that way.”

“What way?” Zoe says, her voice soft. Too soft. 

Shaw makes a strangled noise, picking up a rock off the ground and throwing it as far as she can into the water. “Out of control. It had to stop- I had to stop. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“Those people?” Zoe asks, after a long pause. “Shaw, babe, what’s going on?”

But Shaw doesn’t respond. 

“Shaw,” she says. “I need you to listen to me. I know you don’t like feelings. But too fucking bad because even though you don’t feel them the same way as most people, they’re there.”

Shaw’s mind flashes to Gen, and her words.  _ The volume’s just turned down real low.  _

“So,” Zoe continues, “Instead of ignoring them, or focusing on anger, maybe you should listen harder to the other ones. Even if they make you feel a little funny.”

“I think I’m gay,” Shaw says, without really thinking. Zoe’s genuine laugh bubbles over the line, making Shaw want to jump into the river and die. Why is she doing this. Why can’t she figure out her own damned sexuality like everyone else. 

“No Shaw,” Zoe says, “You’re not gay. You’re bi.”

She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Zoe’s uses the tone in which you tell a child that two plus two equals four, or that the sky is blue, or apparently, Sameen Shaw is bisexual.

Zoe laughs again at the silence. But for some reason, Shaw seems to know it isn’t malicious. 

“What do I do?” Shaw says, her mind spinning. What if she was bi? What does that even mean? It explains it but like, what are you supposed to do when you come to this kind of revelation. Shaw puts her head in her hands. 

“Uh,” Zoe says, “You can finally eat Root out. Live your dreams!”

Shaw groans. She hears a clattering sound of someone grabbing the phone. 

“Come on Zo,” Joss’ voice rings clearly over the line. She should have known that Joss was there the whole time. She isn’t angry, more relieved that she can get another’s perspective.

“Seriously guy,” Shaw lowers her voice. “How do I do this? I don’t know if she’ll…” 

She trails off, not really sure where she was going. 

“Forgive you? Trust you?” Joss asks.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Give her a reason to,” Zoe says, “You fucked up. Well ok, we all do sometimes. Did you say sorry?”

“Yeah, and I meant it but-”

“You gotta do that three step process,” Zoe says, “Remember?”

“Yeah yeah, admit you were wrong, say that you understand what the affect on them was, and say you won’t do it again. But what if I do it again? What if I hurt her? We’re across the country.”

Shaw gulps. She’s not used to talking this much, let alone about feelings of all things. She hates it but for some reason she  _ wants  _ to make this work. 

“Then you do it again, and again,” Joss says calmly.

“Okay,” Shaw says, and the knots in her stomach seem to untie a little bit. “I can do that.”

“Yes you can,” Zoe announces, “If you’re one thing, you’re stubborn. Now go find Root, I want to jump in my pool. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Shaw hangs up, and sighs when she almost immediately receives a text.

_ [Zoe Morgan 1:35pm] Text me later, and don’t forget the details! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment to tell us your thoughts! It is finished so not much is changing, but we do plan on making a series of one shots that take place in this universe if there's something you're dying to see happen. And to all our commenters: thank you, we see you, and we're screaming in our group chat about you guys. We don't reply because that spams all of us with emails, but that doesn't mean we don't enjoy all of you that comment with positive constructive words. :-)


	11. Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a warm summer day and a cool summer night with our favourite girls finally letting themselves be gay and in love. gravelyhumerus cried writing this chapter. its soft and pure and we recommend popcorn and a warm blanket to get the full effect of this chapter.
> 
> edit: for some reason when in "full story" mode this chapter is shown in all italics. clicking "chapter by chapter" seems to fix it!

The sky falls on her back, Root can feel the pervasive light around her, everything is warm gold tinged and radiating energy. The grass under her body is sending wet heat up into the air, making her feel slightly sticky, but good a the same time. She sits back, putting her weight on her arms, feeling them dig into the earth. She takes a handful of grass and lowers herself down, expecting to feel the greenery under her hair, but instead she meets the solid torso of Shaw.

With false confidence, she relaxes, feeling the tense abs behind her head. She almost expects Shaw to push her off, or shrug away, or yell at her, but nothing happens. Root enjoys the sensation of connection. Her head moves up and down with every breath, steady and gently. She hears the rush of air from her lungs, and the strange gurgling sounds that stomachs make when your ear is near them. Root shifts slightly, savouring the scarce affection from Shaw, even as it is just in the simple form of acceptance of physical contact, however accidental.

The sky seems massive over her head, crayon blue with towering white clouds, of all shapes and forms. They dance up there, moving and changing, on the horizon she watches as two massive, intricate clouds combine. The breeze carries a lovely scent of the grasslands around them with a hint of some wildflowers in a grove nearby, but it cannot overpower Shaw, whose clothes are drenched in the thick smell of fire; her cloven smell, now smoky and warm.

Root wonders if Shaw smells her, or if that’s a thing she notices, or if she cares enough to. She has a brief flash of insecurity, the intense fear of lack of reciprocity in their consideration of one another.

Then, as if Shaw felt her tense and panic, a hand reaches out. Not to hold hands or caress, which is obviously not her style, but to place some ripped up grass and flowers onto Roots stomach. Root grins, accepting the gift for the romantic gesture it is. Shaw jerks as she rips the grass, jostling Root’s head slightly as her abs clench, then Root watches as the tickling green pile grows and grows on her stomach and chest. Occasionally, Shaw’s fingers will skim her stomach, giving her the briefest of touches, hinting that this isn’t meaningless. Root cannot help but maintain a smile, the bursting feeling in her chest radiating outward, giving her heart a moment of bliss. She closes her eyes against the sensation, wanting to memorize how Shaw’s body feels, just simply moving around her.

Shaw, for one is also enjoying her afternoon. Root laying on her stomach might be one of the best things she’s felt in a long time. Especially since now, Shaw can look at Root’s profile, without being caught staring. So her eyes sweep down the curve of her nose, and lingers on her lips. She reaches her hand out to touch, but catches herself, settling for a more casual move of moving some of Root’s hair off her stomach. As her fingers close around the lock, she feels the softness of the wave, and so she draws her fingertips along it’s length. Shaw wonders why she hasn’t done this before, as Root’s hair is one of the softest things she’s ever felt.

It feels so natural, Shaw remarks, as she moves her fingers through the hair over Root’s closer ear. Her fingers snag occasionally, but with a slight twist she can free herself and go again. Shaw knows there are biological reasons for this, it’s primate nature to groom others to form emotional connections. But the knowledge of it just being instinct doesn’t make that less satisfying. Root seems to be reacting positively, squirming slightly and seeming to force herself closer to Shaw, curling herself into Shaw’s body.

Suddenly, Shaw feels a hand on her body, seemingly in response. Root’s fingers ghost along her upper thigh, some testing strokes, hesitantly as if Shaw might reject it. Shaw doesn’t know how to react, scared she’ll discourage the behaviour somehow. She forces herself to relax, and curves her body towards Root, hoping she will feel it and see it as the permission it is.

The fingers on her thigh pick up momentum, curving and dancing along her thigh in a fantastic masterpiece of tingling skin. Shaw think’s she sees a smile on Root’s face, and finds that her own has burst into a wide grin. She tries to force it down into a neutral line, but it doesn’t cooperate, so she accepts it and focuses her attention back on Root’s waterfall of hair.

They should do this more often.

The two of them lay there for what feels like hours, the warm afternoon fading into an evening. They entertain each other by pointing at the clouds and telling each other what they look at. At first, they begin with simply things like rabbits, birds, or dragons, but eventually it devolves into finding the most inappropriate things they could imagine. Root wins by seeing a cloud that objectively looks like a large, detailed vagina. This causes them to laugh until Root has tears in her eyes, their chests heaving with their giggles and their eyes closed against the sight of it.

As they calm down, Root rolls over onto her side facing Shaw. Just as she does so, Shaw’s stomach growls loudly, the sound of it going directly into Root’s ear. Shaw snickers at Root’s surprised face.

“I’m hungry,” Shaw complains, the sound of her own stomach making her realize how long it’s been since they ate lunch. She wonders if Harold and John will have returned from town by the time they return to camp, or if they’ll eat alone. She’s surprised to find she’s excited by the prospect.

“Hi hungry, I’m Root,” she responds, giggling at her own joke. Shaw rolls her eyes and tries to squirm away from under her.

Suddenly, instead of becoming free Shaw finds her arms pinned, and Root sitting right on top of her. Shaw appreciates the grace of the move, but growls at the pressure on her hips, pinning her down. She writhes under her, trying to dislodge the thin form holding her down, but Root holds true.

“Now now, Shaw,” Root says, curling down on top of her. Shaw opens her mouth to respond but is stopped by the sight of Root’s parted lips, just inches from her own. Root’s mouth grins slightly, baring her teeth in a menacing- and hot -way.

Shaw tries to move again, her fight or flight instincts kick in without her permission, as she is feeling extremely vulnerable to attack, her neck visible and Root’s teeth bared. Shaw chooses fight, and closes the distance between them, thrusting her lips to meet Root’s own with a growl.

Root lets their lips meet for a second before pulling away quickly, opening her eyes and giving Shaw a probing look.

“You sure?” Root asks, and Shaw is hit by the enormity of the simple statement. She doesn’t know what to say, so she nods, probably too eagerly to maintain her cool facade but she really wants to kiss Root again.

Root smirks and slowly allows her lips to come into Shaw’s range, and reciprocating as Shaw eagerly connects them. Their lips touch, moving against each other softly at first, just taking in the sensation of the connection. They breathe each other’s air, so close now that they can barely discern where one of them start and the other begins. Root releases Shaw’s one arm and her hand reaches up and tangles itself into Shaw’s hair, pulling her closer. Root bravely sweeps her tongue into Shaw’s mouth, tasting like sugar and coffee. She groans into the contact, trying to open her mouth wider, begging for more.

Their teeth clatter against each other in their force, knocking them back briefly, eliciting a giggle from Root before they press into each other again, more softly this time.

Shaw shifts under her, moving her hips slightly in the most erotic way. Root pulls back from her mouth, kissing along her jaw, and down to her neck. She lets her tongue flick against the skin quickly, before dropping for a kiss onto where Shaw’s neck meets her strong shoulder. She can hear Shaw’s heavy breath in her ear, and she grins in response. She then drags her bare, smiling teeth along Shaw’s skin, feeling her shiver and squirm. She then takes her skin into her mouth and sucks, long enough to be sure to make a mark.

Shaw’s free hand moves from Root’s waist and onto her neck, pulling her back up to her lips. Root lets their lips meet once more, this time more chaste, before pulling apart. She smiles predatorily and sits back on Shaw’s hips. She cocks her head, looking at Shaw below her, panting, her cheeks flushed and her lips red from their kiss.

“Dinner?” She asks, too casually. Shaw just laughs, and lets her head fall to the earth, cursing the other girl.

Root crawls off of her, standing up fluidly, and offers her hand for Shaw to get up with her. She takes it, but snaches her hand back as soon as she’s up. Root shrugs at that, unwilling to push her more than she just did. She licks her lips, still tasting Shaw on them.

They stand for a second, just looking at each other. Shaw catches Root’s eye and winks, and for once in their entire relationship so far, the winker closes only one eye. They walk together back to their camp, still alone but not complaining. Shaw makes them a fire, and they spend the early evening together.

Just as Root brings out the marshmallows, they hear the sound of the truck on the dirt road. Root feels the sudden impulse to jump away from Shaw, maintain a steady distance from her and hide their newfound blanket sharing from the boys, but Shaw places a firm hand on her thigh, reminding her that it is ok. She has a sudden memory of Harold doing the same, only days earlier, in a completely different situation. She relaxes and nibbles on her cold marshmallow on its stick, not wanting her hands to get all tacky.

With a bark, the car doors open and a waggling Bear emerges, followed by John, then Harold. They’re carrying groceries and take-out containers that appear to be for chinese. A little too late for Root, who is full on only a small portion of nutella sandwiches only minutes before. John greets them normally, jarring them into remembering that something monumental only happened to them, not affecting the world as a whole.

Bear discovers Shaw, and jumps all over her, licking her face with gusto. Root receives a few licks on her hand before he turns back to Shaw and she reaches up to grab the food as the guys pass her, yanking it from John as he goes to put the other food in their cooler. He lets it fall into her arms, then turns away. Harold puts his bag of food next to the other log bench, and sits down heavily, exhausted by simply going shopping.

He looks at them with a squint, noticing something being off but not mentioning it. He leans down and unwraps the food, taking out a box of noodles and Shaw does the same next to Root, her slurping it up noisily. Root watches her, as always, seeing Shaw take the utmost care in her food, her face concentrated, her brows furrowed. Shaw, full of surprises that day, pauses and looks back at Root. She lifts her chopsticks, holding a noodle up to Root’s lips. Root pauses a second before accepting, closing her lips over the sticks, maintaining eye contact with her the whole time.

“Thanks,” Root whispers after she swallows, blushing suddenly at the gesture, which feels somehow more intimate than kissing her. It's an olive branch, an apology, and so much more.

“Don’t mention it.”

She can feel Harold look between them in surprise and she blushes harder, focusing on poking the fire with her stick, letting the flames burn her vision, hoping the heat will disguise her flush.

John sits down, to Shaw’s right, already chowing down on his own food. After a few bites he pauses to look at them, feeling the silence. Root watches as he gives Shaw a once over and smirks.

“You got something on your neck there Shaw,” he laughs, pointing to where her neck meets her shoulders, the place Root had been paying close attention to. Shaw slaps a hand on top of it and Root rolls her eyes, smiling and proud.

“Shut up,” Shaw growls, hunching down into her food. Root and John laugh, and then turn back to the fire.

They pull into the lot, the truck growling over the gravel path. It’s only five dollars for the lot of them, and it’s not even that busy yet, since they came almost an hour early. They find the parking spaces somewhat full, with a few lawn chairs already set up near the front. As they drive through, people mill about, probably finding snacks.

They drive slowly, navigating though the people and the small buildings and finding a space in the middle of the front. Not too close that they’d have to crane their necks, but not too far back that they could still see through the the other cars. He angles the truck with the back to the screen so they can sit in the truck bed and watch the film. As soon as they park Shaw jumps out and begins to stretch dramatically.

“How aren’t you guys dying in there, your legs are so long,” She grimaces. “I’m like half your size and I can’t deal.”

“Weak,” John says, joining her in the cool evening air. Root and Harold exit the back seat, clipping the long leash to Bear’s collar and letting him sniff around.

John grabs the blow up mattresses, and Root gets the pillows and the two of them set off on making a nest in the back, while Shaw and Harold focus on giving Bear a little freedom in the car park. They walk towards their screen, following the dog’s sniffing, and chatting about the film as they go.

“You know,” Harold says, “I’ve never seen The Breakfast Club.”

Shaw mock gasps and stops in her tracks.

“You’ve never seen it? But it’s a classic!”

“I know. Very eighties, generation x anger at the establishment and all that. Maybe I’m too millennial to appreciate the quality. I presume I must have too much hope.”

“Harold,” Shaw laughs, “You once announced in philosophy class that you are for the personhood of artificial intelligence. Your millennialism is overwhelming, dude.”

He bumps his shoulder into her.

“Sometimes I like the establishment.”

Shaw laughs again.

“No but school. I like school. I think it gets too much flack. The idea of it is great. I mean you know my stance on the application of it, the whole suppression of creativity and the unlawful regimentation. But honestly. A whole establishment dedicated to knowledge is fantastic to me.”

“God, you’re such a nerd.” Shaw throws her head back and draws out the last word.

“Says you, miss three-point-eight gpa.”

“Shut up, I’m not afraid to punch you!”

Harold limps away, his fists up in a mock-defensive stance. Shaw laughs and throws a fake swing at him, causing Bear to bark. Shaw raises her hands and backs off. Harold laughs again and pats the riled-up dog on the head and settles him with a command in Dutch.

“Not fair,” Shaw grumbles, “You have a military-trained attack dog on your side. All I have is Root.”

Harold raises his eyebrows and smirks, but Shaw doesn’t notice.

“Miss Groves can handle her own,” he says in that mysterious tone of voice of his.

Shaw laughs, knowing the truth in his statement.

They reach the end of the lot, hitting a large shrub. They discover that on the other side of it is a small park. It contains a patch of grass, a large swing-set, and a bit of a jungle gym. Shaw bounces on her toes and laughs excitedly.

“Let’s come back with Root and John,” she proposes to Harold, “We still have like twenty minutes before we should grab popcorn, and that looks awesome.”

Harold shrugs but looks open to the idea, pulling on Bear’s leash and urging him back towards their truck and picking up the pace.

As soon as they get there, without even a greeting, they are bombarded with John wielding bug-spray like a weapon. It’s the citronella kind, so he is just dousing them in the scent like they’re going into battle and they need as much armour as they can get. Once they are suitably drenched, Root comes over holding these bracelets as a backup, ones that also fend off the mosquitoes but lasts for hours. Harold and Shaw assume the position, arms out and legs spread, almost as a habit now, having been in the south for days where the bugs will eat you alive.

“Hey,” Shaw says, yanking her wrist back from Root (less violently than she usually does), who is taking a little more time than necessary putting on the bracelet. “We should go to the park over there, there’s swings and stuff and we have a few minutes before we should go. Gotta beat the popcorn rush.”

“Aren’t we a bit old for a playground?” John says, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against his truck.

“Maybe you are, grandpa,” Shaw retorts, “But the kids-” She wraps her arms around the waists of the other two, “-and I are going to have fun.”

They set out like that for a couple steps before Harold worms out of her grasp, walking slightly separated from them, focusing on steering Bear in the right direction. The dog is a bit unwieldy off-duty, taking his liberties in sniffing and walking faster than Harold likes. But the dog is a dog, and Harold likes to treat him as such occasionally. And anyways, Bear deserves time when strangers can come up to him and give him pets without breaking the rules. John catches up to them, giving in to the idea of swings almost immediately. He gives Harold a quick, questioning look before taking Bear’s leash from him, relieving him of the stress of reining the large animal in.

Next to them, Root and Shaw haven’t let each other go. Shaw is still grasping Root’s waist, and Root has now moved her hand to hold Shaw’s shoulder. They lean into each other, their pace matching as they step. Shaw feels the warmth of Root’s body on hers, and the slight tingle of where Root’s hand touches her bare shoulder. She realizes then that she’s on her bad side, but the other girl doesn’t seem to be pulling away.

Shaw doesn’t know how to feel about this, because Root will never stand on someone’s left if she can help it. Shaw can’t imagine, but assumes even with her hearing aid she feels a sort of loss of control. But she’s letting Shaw be on her bad side now, and Shaw likes that.

It doesn’t last too long because as soon as they reach the playground, they both sprint for the swings. Shaw jumps on it, standing on the seat and begins swinging herself back and forth. Root opts for the more traditional swinging tactics, her butt on the curved plastic seat, and her hands wrapped around the chains as she kicks her feet into the dirt and pushes her forward and backward. She begins gaining speed, launching herself into the air with force. The metal set begins shifting in the soil with the movement, as her hair begins dancing in the air.

Harold sits on a swing next to them, making sure to leave one for an actual kid to use. He watches as Shaw begins swinging properly, chasing Root into the sky. He laughs out loud as they begin to ‘double date’ or swing at the same pace, years ago each kid would be compelled to yell at them to inform them that they are doing such. Eventually one of them speeds, or one of them slows, and they begin double ditching. Like before, they are perfectly in sync.

John, to Harold’s right is chasing Bear around the park, steering clear of the younger kids, but having some teens join him. One of the girls with him, seeming to be about twelve, begins throwing a stick for Bear. Harold smiles as he watches Bear tear after it, his tail wagging all the way, but gently return it to the smaller girl, and do the same as she throws it again. The kids take turns playing with him, John showing them the commands to get him to do tricks. Harold loves watching Bear get the attention he deserves, marvelling at how gentle and wonderful he is.

Bear becomes a minor sensation, massing a tiny army of kids between the ages of eight and fifteen, with John as the tall ringleader. They continue playing fetch, tag, and other tricks, and Harold can hear the laughter ring out throughout the park. Some parents even come up to him to pet him and talk to John, and Harold can’t help feel proud. Whenever Bear is far from him, he does miss him, but he loves seeing him spread joy to others.

Shaw and Root notice this too, from high in the sky they both smile at the kids and their passionate yelling at their new favourite canine. They slow down, watching the scene before them at a slower pace. The sun is setting in front of them, sending brilliant gold rays of light right into their eyes, giving the two bespeckled swingers intense lens flares. Root can’t take it, and ops to jump off her swing, and finding something better to do.

She goes to the jungle gym, making sure not to get in the way of any of the kids, and begins swinging on the monkey bars, her long limbs almost reaching the ground. Root thanks the owners that this stuff is the old, dangerous, metal equipment, making it tall enough for her gangly form to still enjoy it. After a few rounds, she pulls herself up on top of the bars, hiking her legs onto it, and lifting her feet though the gap so that she can sit on it in semi-comfort.

Root looks around her, enjoying the view of the playground from her height. She gazes down at Shaw, who is still swinging back and forth, at a slower pace now so that she can talk to Harold, probably continuing the conversation from before. Harold seems to be disagreeing with her, she guesses this from the hand gestures that Shaw is throwing at him angrily.

She looks beyond the shrubbery that surrounds the park, seeing the is the lot, which is beginning to fill up with cars and people who eagerly seek a parking spot for the upcoming film. Beyond their lot are three others, showing films of all sorts and filled with hundreds of movie-goers. In the centre is a retro store, selling popcorn and other food, decked out in neon and probably extremely overpriced.

Root watches as the parents herd their kids away from the park, needing lots of extra time to get the kids settled before the film. Root checks her phone and notices they still have a few minutes before they should go. She lays down, her stomach on the bars, her head in her arms, staring off into the distance. She’s in her own world filled with the breeze tickling her face and the forest in the far distance. She doesn’t notice Shaw until she’s practically underneath her, grabbing just under her boobs for the next bar.

“Shaw!” Root squeals, jumping up. She props herself up on her elbow and looks down to Shaw’s mischievous face. Root bats Shaw’s hand away, scolding her for the grabbing motion she makes at her boob. Shaw swings back to the previous bar, holding it with two hands. Root settles back onto the bar defiantly, grinning down at her.

Shaw shrugs and pulls herself up smoothly, doing a pull-up with next to no effort. Root gasps as Shaw’s face becomes inches away from her own, but the noise is cut off by the feeling of lips on her own.

Her eyes close and she presses into the sensation of Shaw’s soft lips hesitantly touching her, seeming to be as surprised with this development as Root is. After a moment's pause, their lips brush against each other, moving slowly and purposefully. Root’s face flushes and her heart beats faster and faster as the moment stretches on, feeling the warmth of Shaw’s skin on her own. She reaches out a hand, and lightly grabs some of Shaw’s hair, pulling her closer and opening her mouth.

She feels a soft swipe of tongue between her lips, and her eyes open in surprise, seeing Shaw’s brows knitted together and her eyes closed just-so. Suddenly the contact is gone as Shaw falls backward, swinging to the ground.

“Fuck!” Shaw says loudly, hanging from the bar with one hand. Root bursts into laughter, watches as Shaw growls at her pathetically from feet below. Root joins her, lowering herself down by her arms and hanging. She swings herself forward, putting one hand on Shaw’s bar and kisses her quickly before dropping to the ground.

She digs a couple fingers into either side of Shaw’s waist, tickling her until she falls to the ground with even more swearing and a few punches launched her way. Root laughs again and pulls her towards her, grabbing her hand. She looks at Shaw, revelling in the smile she finds on her face. Her heart soars again as she realizes Shaw hasn’t let go of her hand.

“Come on, losers,” Shaw calls out to Harold and John, who are slowly moving up and down on the wooden teeter-totter. Without a second glance at them, Root and Shaw walk hand in hand back to their car.

“You’ve seen The Breakfast Club, right?” Shaw asks, looking at Root suspiciously.

“Yep,” Root responds, allowing their hands to swing back and forth between them.

“Oh good,” Shaw sighs with relief, “Harold hasn’t and I was worried I’d have to break up with you.”

There’s a pause.

“Break up with me?” Root says with a smile, her voice higher than normal.

“Shut up,” Shaw growls, and Root obeys, still smiling but not wanting to scare Shaw away with feelings just yet.

“I’ve also seen the other film, The Voyage Home,” Root continues, steering them towards normal topics now that she can hear John and Harold behind them. “It’s good.”

“Is that the whale one?” Shaw asks, and Root nods. “I haven’t seen it but my dad liked Star Trek, he said I should watch it some time.”

Root pauses at the new information, Shaw never talks about her family.

“It’s fun,” Root assures her, maintaining the normalcy of the situation. “My favourite, honestly. It makes sense that they’d show it in the nostalgic film section.”

“How can it be nostalgic if most people in the audience weren’t even alive when it first aired?” Shaw asks, gesturing around at all the young people in the audience with them. Root just shrugs.

They reach the car and part ways, not before Root lingers a moment, just gazing at Shaw, as she does. Her eyes flash from her eyes, down to her lips, and landing on her bare neck. She reaches a hand up and presses a slightly rough finger into the red bruise. Her smile widens and her nose scrunches. Shaw doesn’t pull away. Root lets her hand drop, and looks like she wants to say something for a moment, before stepping away.

“I'm uh,” Shaw says softly, “I shouldn't have said those things to you. I uh- was angry at myself, um, not you , but I lashed out and I’m sorry I hurt you. I don't want to do that again, I won't-”

“We're ok,” Root says. “Go get me popcorn. We don't really need to talk yet.”

After a pause, Shaw collects herself and appoints herself as snack collector. John offered to go, but Shaw truly is the food expert and insisted. Anyways, it allows him to set up the radio and speakers, and plug his battery into the podium so they wouldn’t drain the power half way through the film.

Root and Harold get settled into the trunk pulling the pillows behind their backs and the blankets over their laps. They take the time to play on their phones for a few moments of peace. Root is still buzzing after kissing Shaw, feeling the sensation play in her mind over and over, and the sight of her mark standing proud on Shaw’s shoulder sends her heart racing into her stomach. She hears Shaw's apology over and over, glad she doesn't have to wonder anymore. She scrolls through her feeds, not really paying attention, just calming herself down. She can’t help but smile as she thinks about the feel of Shaw’s lips on her own, or the warmth of her hand, or the smile she caught as they pulled apart.

I’d have to break up with you, repeats in her mind. It sets in that Shaw thinks of them as a couple. She thinks we are an item, a thing, a couple, girlfriends. Girlfriends.

Root wants to scream with joy.

A few minutes later, Shaw returns to their car with a tray of sodas in one hand, and a fistful of bags filled to the brim with crappy movie food.

“Welcome back. Did you leave any food for the rest of them?” John asks as she hands the drinks to Root, and climbs into the truck bed, crawling through the bags and finding a space where she can lean against the cabin. It goes without saying that her spot places her almost on top of Root, who is currently avidly sipping her new drink.

Shaw yanks out the food and passes it around just as the screen lights up, beginning the previews. John fiddles with the radio station and volume, and she tosses a box of fries at Root, two burgers at John, and some onion rings at Harold. She takes out a burger for herself and immediately bites into the massive thing, groaning at the taste.

“This burger is better than sex,” she says, her mouth full of the thing, spraying crumbs on herself. Root watches with avid interest.

“You say that, but you haven’t had sex with me yet,” Root responds, and then takes a loud slurp of her drink and winks. John gags and Harold is thrown into a coughing fit, having inhaled his soda. Shaw laughs along, enjoying the distress that they have caused.  

Some previews begin to play on the screen as the last rays of light shine on the occupants of the truck. Root takes the popcorn bag in her lap and sticks her tongue onto the top to get a few pieces. Shaw snorts at her, enjoying the fact that unlike most people, Root is as weird with food as she is, she just eats much less.

Shaw finishes her burger with a burp, stuffing the wrapper back into the paper bag. She grabs a handful out of Root’s bag of popcorn and then she slides deeper into the blankets, pulling them onto her and slouching down. She can feel Root’s bare arm on her own, and the contact reminds her of minutes ago when their lips were kissing. Shaw liked that a lot, and she thinks they should do that again soon. She doesn’t let her mind think of that look Root gave her when she touched her hickey, that predatory grin and the powerful feel of her, standing over her. She doesn’t let her mind think of how she can make Root give her that look again. She doesn’t.  

The screen flashes dark, a thudding sound shows that the movie is about to begin. Shaw shoves some popcorn into her mouth and braces herself for what is to come.

A few minutes later, just as she starts getting into the plot, Shaw feels an arm curl around her, but despite her shifting to accommodate it, it can't sit quite right. It makes her hyper aware of how squished they all are, side to side in the truck bed. She doesn't shrug away at the contact, surprising even herself, recently her body hasn't seemed to rebel at the feel of skin on her own. But she does want to move, but doesn't know how without causing Root look sad or anything, she doesn’t want to see that again.

So, Shaw puts her popcorn down to her side, reaches under Root’s back, and grabs her hips, lifting her up and shifting her over, onto her lap and to between her legs. Shaw doesn't think too much of it, used to man handling people to get what she wants. But Root lets out this tiny whimper that startles both of them, and sets a blush going on both their faces.

John and Harold’s heads turn and look at them with questioning eyes, and after John takes in their blushing cheeks, he laughs and makes the shh gesture and turns back to the film.

They both sit, frozen in place, Root blocking Shaw’s view of the film. Shaw gives John the finger, too late, since he is already back to watching the movie.

Eventually, Root makes the first move and relaxes, her spine curling into Shaw’s, shifting down back into the blankets. Her hips settle between Shaw’s thighs and her head rests right on her chest. It takes another moment before Shaw relaxes too, shifting back and forth and resting her head back on the pillow. She finds that her hand is on Root’s waist still, her pinky and ring finger touching Root’s bare skin. Shaw doesn’t move away, but keeps her hand deathly still, hoping that Root won’t pull away.

She tries to focus on the movie, watching as the characters walk through San Francisco in their weird clothing. She forces herself to pay attention to their antics, and chuckle along when they miscommunicate with the people of Earth. She can’t help but pay attention to their surroundings, picturing herself in California with Root instead of Kirk and Spock. She feels a buzz in her chest thinking about reaching their goal, an excitement that she hasn’t had the pleasure of feeling in a long time. Maybe it was the feeling of the other girl curled up on top of her, making her feel something.

Root laughs as the nerdy character makes a science joke, and the feeling of her bouncing on her chest makes her laugh too. Every sound Root makes in amplified, she can see it and feel it, and she likes that a lot.

Now more engrossed in the film, she finds herself moving her hand slightly, her fingers ghosting over Root’s bare side. She moves them slowly, back and forth, then in small circles, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three chapters left! if there's anything you'd like to see before we end this, comment below. if we like it, and it doesnt make it into this fic, we're still looking into writing a series of one shots! stay tuned :-)


	12. Colorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our fav kids go camping! Expect antics, a bit more backstory, and some kissing. We only have two more chapters to go!

Root slaps at her arm, feeling a disgusting squish as she kills a surprisingly large mosquito on her skin. She tries to wipe it off, dragging her hand along the tree trunk, gagging slightly. Why did they have to hike through the woods at sunset of all times. The bugs were eating her like she wasn’t even wearing repellant. 

She shifts her backpack on her back and keeps pushing forward. Her feet catch on the tree roots and she stumbles, just before she teeters to the ground, she’s yanked back by her bag and righted. She mutters a quick thanks to John and keeps going, keeping her eyes on the ground, watching Shaw’s confidant feet in front of her. 

She wants to ask how much farther, but she’s certain that she’d just get a grunt from the girl in front of her, or an unseen shrug from the other two. They’ll get there when they get there. But the hike has been longer than Root expected. They just keep walking and Root’s legs keep protesting. The forest is damp, and loud. Signs of life surround her in the form of twittering birds and poison ivy that she gets yelled at for almost stepping in. It is better than the desert that they’ve been surrounded by for the last few weeks, but strangely, the forest feels more like the big city than Root expected. 

After what feels like hours, Shaw slows to a stop, and so does Root, letting her bag fall with a thud on the leaf-covered forest floor. She stretches her sore back, unused to the activity. She lets her own body fall to the ground next, revelling in the release of tension on her muscles. Harold apparently let Bear off the leash to run around their new site, because he comes right into her face and gives it a solid lick before waggiling away to find a new victim. 

“Come on pokey, let’s get our tent set up,” Shaw says, not letting Root have a break after the long trek. 

The boys seem to already be working at it, rummaging through their bags for the tarp and other supplies. Root groans and looks in her own bag for the tent. She pulls out some of the poles and their garbage bag covered blankets, and lays them on the ground. Shaw retrieves their tarp and tent out of her bag and they get started. Just as Root stands, they feel the first raindrop, then the second, and then suddenly there is a steady fall of rain right onto their camp site. 

“Fuck.” 

They decide to set up a bit of a tarp enclosure first, tieing it up to the trees to offer them some protection from the rain. It’s too late because soon Root is wet to the bone and shivering. She pushes through it, forcing her hands to stay still as she fits together the pieces of the poles. They’re simple to put together, having an elastic string down the middle, and only needing to be held in the right configuration to fit together. Root smiles as she finishes one, and moves on to the other, adding piece after piece until she makes a nice long pole. She holds the second one triumphantly before it promptly detaches in the middle before swinging down to hit her foot sharply. 

Root grumbles as she puts that one together again, moving onto the next one. She looks over to Shaw who’s still unrolling the tent. As she turns around to grab the pegs to hammer it into the ground, Bear takes the opportunity to lie right in the middle of the tent, his muddy paws make marks all over it. Root tries to shoo him away but can’t seem to remember the Dutch word for off. 

“Bear!” Shaw turns and catches him, “Uitstappen!”

So Bear, gets off part of it, then moves only a foot away and lies down again. Shaw orders him to get off it again, and shoos him. He takes the hint this time and decides to lie on John and Harold’s tent instead. Shaw shrugs and lets them deal with it. 

Root finishes assembling the poles, and Shaw seems done with the pegs, so they decide to start threading the tent’s skeleton through the holes. Shaw holds the tent up, forming an approximation of a two person tent, and Root tries to get the metal tubes to fit into their respective places, bending in a way to hold the tent upright. 

“Get it in,” Shaw mock-groans, making a dirty gesture with her free hand. 

“Oh baby,” Root stage whispers, “You’re so tight.”

Shaw practically collapses with laughter as Root still struggles to slide the pole in the hole, making mock sex noises as she works. She glances over to a horrified Harold who blushes and pretends he didn’t hear anything. 

“But seriously,” Root says, her voice normal, “It’s stuck.”

“Oh fuck ok,” Shaw responds, “Uh just try another angle.”

Root and Shaw struggle for a few more moments, pushing the pole in and out a few times before it finally works. The tent can’t stand with only one pole so it flops pathetically to one side, making a thwap noise due to the moisture. 

Shaw picks up the next pole, and waves it slightly, continuing their phallic metaphor from before. This is a mistake because as soon as she shakes it, Bear pounces on it, grabbing it in his mouth like a stick and walking off, leaving a stunned Shaw behind him. She then chases after him, telling him to stop and give it back to her. She now regrets saying the dutch word for stop during play, because the dog isn’t taking it seriously as she and Harold call after him, begging for the pole back before he destroys it. 

“Hou op!” Harold pleads as John and Root look on, equal parts amused and concerned, “Geef het aan mij.”

Harold only wins the dog over by fishing his ball out of an extra backpack, and throwing it into the woods. Bear chases after it, abandoning the decidedly unchewable metal pole for Shaw and Root to use for their tent.

Returning to the tent, a little warmer than usual after chasing after the dog briefly, Shaw looks Root over. 

“Here,” Shaw grunts suddenly, shoving her jacket into Root’s hands. She objects at first, but with the combination of her own shivering and Shaw’s glare makes her take it. 

“Thanks,” replies Root.

“Can’t build a tent with you looking so pathetic.”

Root slips it on, relishing both the warmth and the feeling of being surrounded by Shaw’s scent (which is only vaguely like wet-dog at that moment).

 

//

 

Root falls back onto the scratchy blanket in a fit of giggles, letting her head hit the ground, only cushioned by the thin layer of cotton and the springy grass. With the soft sounds of the local radio playing from the truck, the group’s laughter surrounds her, a pleasant warmth filling the cool mountain air. Their rosy cheeks leave her vision, only to be replaced by the starry sky. 

She considers sitting back up as the laughter slows, but her slightly foggy brain dreads that effort, so instead she reaches her arm and unceremoniously drags an unprotesting Shaw down with her. The warmth of their laughter is replaced with the tangible warmth of her friend as she presses into Root’s side, joining in her impromptu star gazing. 

Roots unpracticed eyes scan the stars for something recognisable but even the one star she could normally see on the darkest of nights on the skirts of the city was crowded in the overwhelming masses of stars that were filling her sky. It reminds her of Before and she does not like it. A feeling of anxious displacement thrums through her limbs, making her squirm. She tears her eyes away from the universe and focuses them on Shaw’s profile. 

John gets up, the shuffling of his moving body breaking the sounds of their soft breathing and the calming crackle of their fire. He returns with a pack of beer and a laugh, handing one to each of them, and cracking a soda for himself. 

“Let’s get fucked up,” he says raising his can in the air, they all scoot forward to accept the beer.

“Cheers,” Harold chooses beer, surprisingly. Root and Shaw join him, accepting their drinks with grace. 

“Now that we are suitably on our way to intoxication, shall we play some appropriately adolescent games?” Harold raises his eyebrows, and tilts his head. “Truth or Dare then? I don’t believe that spin the bottle would be suitable.”

“Agreed,” Shaw says, “Harold. Truth or dare.”

“Oh dear. Truth.”

“What’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?” 

His eyes flicker to Root, who smirks. 

“Ms. Groves, would you consider hacking the pentagon or the president's private line more illegal?”

“Definitely the president,” Root responds, “The public cares about him more.”

“Indeed,” Harold says.

John then takes the opportunity to ask Shaw: “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Shaw narrows her eyes defiantly, tilting her chin up, giving that look that means:  _ I’m ready for it, whatever it is.  _

“I dare you to….” John looks around and his eyes land on Root, sipping her drink innocently. “I dare you to lift Root like she’s a weight. You can lift over 100 pounds, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” Shaw stands and walks to Root, gesturing for the other girl to stand. 

“Do I even have a say in this?” she asks, with a squeak as Shaw reaches for her. She tries to be suave, catching herself from babbling as Shaw hooks a hand around her. “Now Shaw, at least buy me a drink first.”

“I’ll grab one for you later, now stop squirming.”

Shaw lets Root half fall into her arms, but she’s awkwardly tense in her shoulders and limp in her spine. She’s fairly sure that Root is blushing, but it could be the alcohol; she’s a lightweight. 

Shaw sways a bit with the weirdly organic weight, being used to the bar at the gym.  _ Dammit John, _ she thinks as she finds her hand between Root’s thighs. She is almost surprised that she doesn’t mind too much about that, more worried about dropping the girl in her drunken state than their decency. 

“Do a plank,” Shaw tells her, shifting her hands for a better grip. Root does as she’s told and Shaw finds that her grip is more secure, feeling Root’s lithe form tense in her arms.

Cheered on by Root’s giggles, Bear’s barking, and the boys’ yelling, she lifts Root first to her chest, then in the air. She holds the position briefly, laughing at the exertion and the thought that she is  _ actually  _ doing this. She moves out of the squat, leaning forward, and allowing Root to drop into her arms, bridal style. 

She earns a raucous round of applause and a bubbling laugh from the girl in her arms. Shaw shrugs and lets her fall onto her feet, giving a quick flex of her arms in the spirit of it. 

“Who’s next?” She does a grabbing motion towards Harold, who looks stricken with panic in response. They all laugh, the sound carrying for a long moment as they all get reseated, Root now leaning on Shaw, who doesn’t complain. 

“John, since you put me through that ordeal,” Root says after they all are calm enough to speak again, “Truth or dare.”

“Really, Root?” 

“Of course.” She winks. 

“Dare.”

“Feeling brave? Hm. How about you… give Harold a lap dance. And mean it,” she says with a haughty tone and a wink, earning a scoff from Shaw and a gaping look from John. 

“How does one mean it when performing a lap dance,” inquires Harold, shifting in his place on the blanket and looking little worried. No one answers. 

“Feel sexy, John,” Shaw says with a clawing motion with her hand.

“Oh you bet,” he replies with a wink in her direction.

He begins by slowly, and scandalously removing his shirt, revealing a set of impressive muscles. He then throws it at Root in retribution, who promptly waves it in the air and whoops. They find a strangely appropriate song come on the radio, with the singer talking about his own attractiveness. John starts facing away from Harold, with his behind basically in the poor boy's face. John slowly presses into his lap, with a hilariously straight face. Harold looks up with wide eyes, his hands drifting up. Root and Shaw look on, laughing and cheering him on. They can't tell if Harold is raising his arms to grab John's ass or to protect himself in case his stripping friend falls. 

He slowly leans and turns- wrapping his left arm around Harold's neck, giving him a perfect view of his bare chest, all the while still maintaining fierce eye contact with a stony face. Harold looks on, blushing and entranced as John slowly straddles his lap, one knee on each side of him. He leans forward and the girls are almost sure he aims to kiss Harold's neck, taking the lap dance one weird, gay step further. Harold's eyes close. 

Just as Root thinks John couldn't get any closer before kissing his friend Shaw topples over in laughter, breaking John's concentration. He then winks at Harold and stands up smoothly. He chooses to sit right next to Harold then, who’s still gaping and looking extremely flustered. 

“Okay, now I’m full of regrets. I think that will always permanently etched into my brain,” Root laughs, finally catching her breath after that display. “New game: never have I ever.”

“Rules?” John asks, unfazed. 

“Someone says ‘Never have I ever’ followed by something that they have never done, if you’ve done it, then you take a sip of your drink, cool?”

“Cool,” Shaw says, “I’ll start: never have I ever given someone a lap dance.”

John drinks with a smirk. 

“Never have I ever received a lapdance,” John counters. 

Harold  _ and  _ Shaw drink, the latter to everyone’s surprise. 

“Hey you didn’t say we had to explain!” Shaw protests, giving the others pointed looks “Never have I ever hacked anyone.”

Harold and Root drink, protesting the targeted attack.

“Never have I ever… kissed someone here,” Harold says.

Root and Shaw both drink.

“Stop targeting me,” Root giggles.

After a few more rounds, filled with over sharing and much more drinking the fire begins to dim. No one feels like getting up for more wood, so they gather closer to the fire. John is the only sober one, but his inhibitions are as low as the rest of them, feeling intoxicated by the fresh air and the haze of the fire. 

“How about,” Shaw proposes, “Since it is officially tomorrow, let’s play Truth or Truth, but this time massacre style. Everyone has to answer, even the asker, so choose wisely.”

“Why not?” Root says, “We lost all sense of dignity hours ago.”

So they cycle through the standard sexual questions, with grumbles from Shaw who vehemently protests the fact that Harold makes it unfair because he’s ace. Then it runs back around to Harold who uses his prior-gathered info against them.

“Who was your first kiss, and describe it. With detail.”

They look to John, who became the guy who has to go first for some reason. He looks forever calm in the firelight, which makes his angular features softer and younger than normal. 

“Kara S. in ninth grade. She kissed me. It wasn’t really romantic or anything. Kind of a waste of time really, I liked Brittany M. at the time.”

“Me, I made out with this guy, John, under the bleachers in my elementary school.” Shaw shares with a shrug, “He wasn’t a good kisser and I got bored. While we’re at it, my first time was a guy named Stephen. He was a good lay.” She then turns to Root to hear her answer. Root bites her bottom lip, trying to look nonchalant by rolling her eyes and giving them a lopsided grin.

“Uh, in ninth grade at a party, and this guy seemed to like me. So I thought I should like him too. He brought me into the backyard and kissed me and stuff,” she trails off, her hands twisting slightly in her lap. She knows that they all assumed she would talk about one of her straight girl conquests she joked about. She liked that air of haughtiness, but feels that the truth would be best in this situation. She laughs sharply and plays it off, saying: “It was gross.”

She meets Shaw’s eyes and realizes that her attempt at casuality had failed, seeing blatant concern in her friend’s eyes. Her brows come together and she looks angry for a brief second and Root has to turn away. 

“I’m sorry that happened, Root,” Harold responds sincerely, and Root’s stomach jumps into her throat, and she feels a need to say more. She tilts her head, looking at the sky instead of the others. 

It takes the night approximately another hour to wind down and the fire to burn out, but the questions and beer don't really have the same feeling after that. Harold is the first to concede that the soft-spoken nature of the night has died.

“We all should be heading to bed quite soon. We do have a rather long drive ahead of us,” Harold remarks after a brief silence. “It would do us all well to get at least a few hours of sleep.” 

He makes to stand but more so just lurches towards the smoldering ashes, remaining on the ground when he’s done. He looks quietly towards John, realizing how drunk he really is and how it doesn’t really help his mobility.

“Harold’s right, we need to sleep,” John seconds as he stands and offers a hand to help the other man up. Root and Shaw remain seated however, both looking up at their friends, perfectly content to stay in each other’s company for a little while longer. Harold and John stand there for a moment waiting for Root and Shaw, but when the two women don’t stand up they bid them goodnight and, with a few parental-like warnings from Harold about the effects of not sleeping, head towards the car.

Root looks at the ground again and her hair falls forward as the two men retreat to the other side of the camp, the tent obscured by the darkness beyond the embers still burning in their fire. Shaw looks at Root.

“Tomorrow should be fun,” She whispers with a smirk in an attempt to lighten Root’s heavy mood, to no avail. Root’s legs are drawn up close to her body and her hands are in Shaw’s, but the comment barely even elicits a reaction. Shaw’s legs pull in from where she’s been stretched out for the past hour as she sits up.

“Root?” The question is soft and almost lost in the wind. Neither woman moves until Shaw untangles one of her hands from Root’s and reaches up to touch Root’s clenched jaw.

Shaw’s hand stills, centimeters from Root’s jaw.

“What's going on Root?” The question is even softer than her last one, getting pulled away in the wind. Shaw’s brow furrows and her lips part in a mix of confusion and expectation at what she knows is coming.

“Bad memories, I guess,” she trails off and Shaw sits stock-still, eyes wide and hand still near Root’s chin. 

Root waves her hand in a floppy swooping gesture, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the empty ashes as Shaw sits back and pulls her hand away. She laughs humorlessly, and opens her eyes to stare blankly into the distance. 

Shaw stands up, brushing her pants off. She walks towards their tent, leaving a startled Root behind. She stares after her, watching as Shaw bends and unzips their tent, with Root stranded next to the embers of the fire, only lit by the stars overhead. Root sits frozen, her heart in a vice, her feelings crashing over her in waves that make her eyes prick like she might cry. Did she scare her away?

She shakes her head, and pushes herself off the ground. It doesn’t matter. Shaw had enough of her. Root tells herself that it’s just her drunk mind making something out of nothing. 

Shaw turns around and says, “Hurry up, don’t let the bugs in!” 

Root laughs, and walks quickly into their tent. Shaw unzips her sleeping bag, and lays down, leaving lots of space next to her for root. They curl up face to face, not quite looking at each other, but their knees pressing together. Shaw reaches her arm out, giving Root a brief squeeze on the shoulder before deciding that the most comfortable position would be on her stomach. Root smiles, content once again, and they fall asleep surrounded by each others warmth on the hard ground of the mountain.

 

//

 

After a long morning of packing up, Harold and John leave to go for ice cream one more time before they leave. It’s over an hour walk, but the boys think it’s worth it. So Root and Shaw wave them off for their hike, and smile at the chance to actually be alone for a few minutes. Neither of them really knows what happens between the departure, and the moment that they fall into each other, kissing passionately.

Root finds herself roughly opening the back door of the truck, letting it swing open. It bounces back, and hits her in the side, though she is too distracted to mind. She grabs a handful of Shaw’s shirt and shoves her into the back seat, grinning as she thuds against the cushioned leather, sprawled on her back and looking at Root half annoyed, and half aroused. 

Root climbs in after her, pausing only to close the door. She sits on Shaw predatorily, her eyes glinting like she’s won. Shaw writhes, trying to flip them over, but she is quieted with a hand trailing up her leg, and dancing along her inner thigh. Her lips part in a way that apparently looks entirely too needy for Shaw’s liking, so she covers it up by baring her teeth and making a faint growling noise deep in her chest. 

Root shushes her, and her hands move up her body, her left bracing herself on the seat while the right presses against Shaw’s firm stomach, lifting her shirt slightly. She’s now close enough for Shaw to pull her in, grabbing roughly at her hair and digging her nails slightly into Root’s forearm. She leans down, feeling the fingers press into her delicate skin, her skin heating up at the thought of bruises forming where each digit touches. Shaw’s hand pulls her sharply towards her, kissing her surprisingly softly, once in reach. The contrast between sensations sends tingles down her spine, and makes he press her hips into Shaw’s own. 

She deepens the kiss, their mouths clashing together more frantically now, pulling apart occasionally to breathe desperate pants into each other’s lungs. The air feels hot, and seems to crackle with electricity. Just as Root means to pull away for another gasp of air, Shaw’s teeth grasp at her bottom lip, nibbling sharply and causing her to moan obscenely. She pulls back at her own noise, surprised and somewhat embarrassed by her show of desire, but instead of the expected smirk, Shaw’s mouth is wide, her lips delectably red. Her brow is furrowed and her eyes intense, looking Root dead in the eyes. 

Root smiles big, her nose scrunching and a giggle falling out of her lips unbidden. She pulls Shaw close, one hand behind her neck, pulling lightly at her hair and the other slipping under the fabric of her tank top and caressing her back muscles. She goes for her neck instead of her lips this time, kissing her delicately first with quick pecks of her soft lips before sucking a little harder. 

After a few swears coming from the girl under her, she picks up her pace, sucking enthusiastically at her jugular vein, using her teeth to scrape at the skin. As soon as her teeth touch her skin, she feels Shaw shudder slightly under her. Taking that as a positive sign, she bites her lightly. This earns her a soft ‘fuck’ and a subconscious grind of her hips. Root sees the message in that and bites her with all her desire, digging her teeth into the soft tanned skin that she has been lavishing. 

Shaw grunts her name, her right hand creeping up her shirt and her thumb tracing the underside of her bra. Root presses into the contact, moaning into Shaw’s neck at the feel of Shaw touching her skin so softly. 

Root releases the skin after only a moment, and lapping at it to soothe the teeth marks, purple and deep into the skin. She traces the arch with the tip of her tongue, feeling the texture and groaning at the sight. 

“Shaw-” she begins, just as the front door opens. Root rolls her eyes, annoyed at the interruption as John sits down, casually into his seat. Shaw, on the other hand, swears loudly, and yanks her hand out of Root’s shirt. This causes John to turn around sharply, his eyes widening as he sees Root sitting on top of a severely flustered Shaw. 

“Oh come on,” John complains, wildly slapping a hand over his eyes. “Really?”

Root chuckles lightly, only inconvenienced by his intrusion, not really embarrassed. Shaw, on the other hand, looks mortified and murderous. She shoves Root off her (softer than she has in the past) and straightens her shirt, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly, her eyes dark and her hands clenched. 

“Like,” John continues, “It was so much better when you two were at each other’s throats. That, I could deal with.” His eyes flick down to Shaw’s neck, the bruise blooming beautifully on her skin, John fake-gags and says, “But now that you are… at each other’s  _ throats-” _

He stops, making an incomprehensible hand gesture before turning away. “In my  _ car,”  _ he groans and rubs at his eyes.  Root flips her hair back and straightens out her shirt, cringing at the poor pun. To her left, Shaw storms out of the car, probably moving to grab the last of their things from beside the fire, and to avoid the awkward situation. Root simply shrugs and moves to join her, wondering, but not really caring to ask why John and Harold turned back before getting their ice cream. 

“John,” she calls, opening the car door. “I’m so  _ glad _ you noticed my handiwork, Shaw’s neck is truly the perfect canvas.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, we'd love to hear your feedback on tumblr too [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/). @gravelyhumerus and space-goose are always ready to cry about this fic, and you might inspire our local genius one-shot writer @villainousunsub with your ideas.


	13. New Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night!! This is mostly fluff and some almost smut. This chapter is why this fic is rated mature but not explicit. We hope this fic can bring you all some nice warm feelings.

You gals meeting anyone?” The middle-aged hostess asks them as they are seated, handing them a menu. “You look all dolled up! Double date?”

“Uh,” Root says, “No? We're here together.” 

“Ah!” The woman just about squeals, “Girls night out!” 

Root frowns, “I guess so. If that’s what you call a date.”

The hostess looks confused for a second before giving them a speech on their specials. They let her go before Root begins to giggle. 

“She called us gals, Sameen,” Root laughs, “That’s one word away from gal-pal.”

Shaw can’t help but smirk.

“I wish she was our server,” Shaw says, “because I’d order a gay steak.”

Root giggles again, “That doesn’t even make any sense! I should order a lesbian spaghetti!”

“How is that better?” Shaw asks, “How is pasta gay?”

“It’s like some girls: straight… until you get it wet.”

Shaw shakes her head, a smirk lingering on her lips, forming a small smile as she enjoys Root’s lame attempts at humour, and later on, a really good steak. She doesn't even mind when Root looks at her for too long, or even when their hands brush while eating the dessert that Root  _ insisted _ on sharing. 

Actually, the evening was going pretty well, and it should only look up with the movie they plan on seeing.  _ Star Wars.  _  The new one. It should be amazing; it’s gotten really good reviews and if Root’s as much of a nerd as she seems, they should both have fun. 

 

//

 

Hours later, after a successful dinner and movie, they bundle into the truck, escaping the rain falling down on them. Their hair is damp, and as they catch their breath, seated side by side in the front seat, they find the humidity is making their windows fog up. Root carefully stows their ticket stubs into the car console, keeping them safe from the drops of water falling onto the cloth seat. Shaw turns the radio on, letting some soft rock play quietly through the speakers, competing with the rain for their ears. 

Like the windows, Root’s glasses begin to fog as the car heats up, and before Root can do anything herself, Shaw reaches up and pulls them off her face. The concentration on her face, and the domestic movement is strangely erotic, and Root’s breath escapes her lungs in a soft gasp. 

Root touches Shaw’s face before they kiss, and runs her fingertips across her cheekbones, along her jaw, down her nose. She taps her chin softly. Root lets her thumbs ghost over Shaw’s lips, tracing her full lips, feeling the slightly chapped texture. She lets her thumb tug on her bottom lip, pulling down and opening Shaw’s mouth a bit. Root wants desperately to remember this moment, memorize Shaw in a way she’ll never admit out loud. And Shaw lets her, knowing Root’s movements aren’t for her. Root finally raises her eyes to Shaw’s and they kiss, a crashing movement the both of them can revel in. It’s not perfect, but Root hopes her memory will be. 

She threads her fingers through Shaw’s own, using them to pull herself closer, and more on top of her. With her other hand, she digs into Shaw’s hair, struggling to hold on, until she breaks their kiss frustratingly to pull on Shaw’s hair tie and to tangle her fingers in Shaw’s still damp hair. Reflecting her, Root feels Shaw’s own hands begin to run through her hair, petting down her frizzy curls and tugging on the thin hair at the nape of her neck. Their lips meet once again, bumping teeth and noses as they fight to get even closer than before. 

After a few moments Root pulls back, letting their foreheads rest together, nose pressed to nose, letting their breathing slow, Shaw tries to kiss her again, but Root pulls back regretfully. 

“Babe,” Root says, leaning back into her seat, “Let’s not do this here, alright?”

Shaw’s eyes light up at the promise of more, she nods and turns the engine over, and backs out of their parking spot.

 

//

 

Shaw falls to her knees with a soft thud, looking up at Root with wide eyes. She watches her as she kisses the inside of Root’s thighs, soft kisses followed by harsher scrapes of teeth, as she grips Root with sharp nails digging into her soft skin. Root shivers at the patterns that Shaw makes with her hot tongue, teasing what might be in store later. 

After a questioning look and a consenting whispered “yes” from Root, Shaw unbuttons Root’s shorts, and tugs them down, letting them fall to the floor. Root looks down at Shaw’s greedy face, leaning in to kiss just on top of Root’s hip, just covered by her soft cotton panties. In Root’s mind, her thoughts are a constant flow of  _ ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck’  _ mixed in with Shaw’s name, said in the same pleading way as if she was speaking to the god Root doesn’t believe in.

Shaw then reaches to pull down Root’s underwear, but a hand presses against Shaw’s own, stopping her. 

“Sweetie,” Root says, realizing how out of breath she sounds, “As hot as you are on your knees, I think I’d rather our first time  _ not  _ be against a wall, two steps into a random bed and breakfast.”

Shaw tenses up, and Root soothes her with a soft tug on her hair tie, and saying, “Let’s go our bed.”

Her flushed face lights up, grinning at the invitation to continue, she gives Root’s leg another kiss before smoothly returning to her feet. Shaw lets herself be lead to the bedroom, allowing Root to hold her hand briefly. She’s not in it for the gooey romantic stuff, but Root likes it, so Shaw does too. 

Seconds later, Shaw finds herself pressed down onto the bed, her arms pinned over her head with Root’s rough hands, as her neck is marked by Root’s strong tongue. Shaw mock-struggles under Root, knowing that she could stop it all with her own strength, or a simple word. It makes it all that much sweeter for both of them. 

Root sits on top of Shaw, her light weight settled on top of Shaw’s hips as she moves away with enough time to pull her shirt over her head, messing up her hair a bit. Shaw’s breath heaves out of her lungs, and she struggles to sit up to take off her own shirt, her eyes greedily pouring over Roots now naked form. As she unbuttons her shirt, Shaw pours over Root’s pale skin, admiring her black bra cupping her small chest, and the sharp angles of her shoulders leading down to the soft curves of her stomach. When Shaw gets to the last button, Root’s warm hands push the shirt off Shaw’s shoulders, sending hot streaks of contact down Shaw’s arms until the cool air of the room flows over her bare skin.

Root falls down back on her, attacking her neck with her tongue once again, and Shaw’s lust addled fingers fumble with the clasp of Root’s bra, taking longer than even the most virginal teenage boy would. When she finally gets it, Root grins into her neck and lets Shaw pull it off her body, giving her a startling view of her flushed breasts. She flings the bra onto the floor by their bed, and Shaw’s left hand returns to smoothing over Root’s back, as the other one moves up, gripping Root’s ribs as her thumb across the underside of Root’s small breast. 

“This ok?” Shaw breathes into Root’s ear as she moves her hand to cup Root, skin to skin, in a way she’s never actually done before. 

“Yes,” Root replies, lifting her mouth from Shaw’s neck, after making what will certainly be a good hickey the next morning. Shaw’s fingers boldly move over Root’s nipple, her thumb presses on it, teasing it a second before she feels Root urging her up. 

She does a small sit-up, giving Root space to expertly remove her bra. More bold than Shaw, Root’s lips crash into Shaw’s chest, kissing down from her collarbone, nipping occasionally, until they fall on top of Shaw’s nipple. Shaw would never admit it, but she gasps and whines slightly at the contact, at Root’s warm, wet mouth covering her sensitive skin.  

 

//

 

They fall back onto the sheets, allowing their breathing to slow, as their limbs feel light and tingly. Shaw finds Root draped over herself, skin to skin, tangled up in their afterglow. Root’s hands trail over Shaw’s darker skin, smoothing over her back and curling into her hair. 

“Sameen,” Root whispers after a while, “What if you knew who your soulmate was?”

Shaw tenses for a moment, but forces herself to relax. 

“What?” Shaw makes her tone conversational, like Root’s. “How?”

“Like,” Root’s hand slow, circling around what Shaw thinks must be a particularly interesting constellation of freckles, “A shared mark, or maybe a you only see colour when you meet them, or maybe the first words you say are tattooed on your body… Something that would let you know for  _ sure. _ ”

“I dunno, Root,” Shaw says, “What if you hated the person who's your soulmate, according to the universe?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Root giggles, “That’s why it’s called a soulmate, you’re supposed to love them, no matter what or something.”

“If someone ate my steak… fuck what the universe said.” 

Shaw feels Root grin against her arm. 

“Anyways,” Shaw says, “I like free will. The mystery of having to figure it all out by myself. I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

“I’d like to be certain,” Root says softly, and for some reason, her voice doesn’t sound like she’s being hypothetical anymore.

“Certain about what,” Shaw asks, keeping her voice level.

“Nothing,” Root says, a little too quickly. 

“Certainty is useless,” Shaw says after a moment, reaching her arm out to pull Root closer. Root’s hands pick up their touching again, slowly smoothing over Shaw’s muscles. “Everything is just constantly changing. What’s happening now is real enough.”

“Wouldn’t you just like to  _ know?”  _ Root says, her voice thick with sleep. “Know for sure what’s real and what isn’t?”

“You’re real,” Shaw responds.

Root hums, and presses closer. Shaw’s words seem to soothe her, and so she presses a quick kiss to Shaw’s shoulder and then mutters something about cool matching tattoos before slipping into a deep, restful sleep. 

 

//

 

Root wakes up to the feeling of a soothing warmth deep in her bones. Her mind slowly focuses on the feeling of heavy limbs wrapped around her torso, and the deep in and out of her breathes, mixed with another's. She shifts against the soft sheets, trying to push herself closer to Shaw. Her face presses into the other girl’s shoulder, and she breathes in her soothing scent and sighs. She could get used to this. 

She feels completely worn out in the best way possible. There’s a subtle ache in her muscles, light enough that they don’t protest as she moves, but real enough to give her pleasant reminders of her night. Another memento of that is the bare skin pressed against her own, warm and sending tingles down her spine. She thinks that she could wake up like this a thousand times without getting bored of it. Root certainly would like to find out. 

Root doesn’t want to pull away, but also really feels the urge to watch Shaw as she sleeps. Throughout the summer it’s been her favourite thing to do. She looks so serene and sometimes  _ happy. _ And Root really wants to see that. Instead, she closes her eyes, pressing her nose into Shaw’s collar bone, and remembers the face that smiled at her last night, the sight of her gasping and begging and saying Root’s name. She grins at the memory, 

“Shut up,” Shaw says, breaking Root’s reverie. Root hadn’t even known that Shaw was awake, and is pretty certain that she hadn’t said anything. She doesn’t move, enjoying the vibrations of Shaw’s voice as she speaks. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Root replies, her voice cracking a little bit with sleep.

Shaw snorts, brushing her chin against the top of Root’s head, and moving her sleep-filled limbs to rest on Root’s lower back, “I can hear you thinking.”

“What am I thinking about?” Her smile widens at the feeling of Shaw’s strong grip on her back. 

“Me,” she says, simply. 

“That’s not a fair guess, I’m  _ always _ thinking about you,” Root chuckles, and Shaw can’t help but join her. 

After a moment, Shaw gathers Root into her arms and pulls her up, giving her a soft kiss. Root just melts into her arms, her smile breaking the kiss until they just press their foreheads together, their noses rubbing lightly. Shaw tenderly brushes the hair out of Root’s face, before Root snuggles back down into Shaw, and her breathing slows, propelling her back into a deep sleep. 

The next time Root wakes up, Shaw’s gone. Root realizes this fact with a start, panicking for a second before she calms at the sound of the quiet clutter of cooking coming from the kitchen area. After that strong feeling of dread crept into her, Root’s chest suddenly feels like it’s going to burst, she feels so happy. 

She slips out of the covers, and walks quietly down the hall, hoping to avoid the squeaking parts of the floor. She glances around the corner, finding Shaw’s back to her. Perfect. She silently slips onto the counter, swinging her legs back and forth before greeting her girlfriend. 

“Hi Sweetie,” she says, causing Shaw to drop an orange on the ground in surprise. Surprising her will never get old, and Root knows she only has a few more tries before they go away. She’s gotta fit them in. 

Shaw glares at her, grunting a good morning, and then opens the drawer next to Root, retrieving a whisk. She turns her back on Root, giving her a good view of her legs, barely covered by the baggy shirt that falls just under Shaw’s butt. Shaw moves with confidence, grabbing some syrup from the fridge and swooping back to beat the batter. 

After a few moments of watching her, Root slides off the counter and comes up behind Shaw. She rests her head on her shoulder, enjoying her advantage in height, and she wraps her hands around the smaller girl’s waist. Shaw tenses a moment before relaxing into the press of Root’s form, leaning back slightly. She pauses her cooking for a moment to push Root’s hair out of her face with a small grumble about the curls. When Shaw has to break apart to chop some bananas, Root detaches herself, content to lean against the counter and relish in the concentrated look on Shaw’s face as she slices the pieces into tiny bits. 

Root pushes herself up, standing behind her, placing one hand on her waist, and the other on her hair. She keeps enough distance between her and the knife, knowing Shaw is probably not going to be happy if Root fucks with her food. 

“Sweetie,” Root says, twisting Shaw’s hair with her finger, “Show me how to make eggs, I wanna help.”

Shaw looks back at her, her brow furrows, “You don’t know how to make eggs?”

Shrugging, she replies, “No one taught me. I just put scrambled eggs in the microwave.”

Shaw finishes up with the pancake prep, and pushes Root to the opposite counter, and hands her an egg. Root’s sure she knows how to do this part, so she cracks the egg off the side of the bowl and adds it into the mix. Shaw hands her the whisk, and watches her perform a few hesitant flicks of her wrist. Shaw shakes her head and grabs Root’s hand, guiding her as she slowly gets used to whipping up the mixture of egg and milk. Shaw reaches to their left, and grabs the salt and pepper shakers, standing on her tiptoes as she puts a pinch of each in the bowl, her arms wrapped around Root the entire time. 

Root feels her breath hitch, and her heart race as she feel’s Shaw’s arms around her. She hopes she had the same effect on Shaw earlier when she did the same time. Unfortunately, she has to focus on what she’s telling her, since Root certainly doesn’t want to look incompetent in front of her, especially while making scrambled eggs. Even Root shouldn't be able to fuck  _ that  _ up. 

They finish their stirring and pour the mixture onto the hot pan. Shaw guides Root’s hand as she moves the eggs around, her smaller hand lightly moving Root’s own. After a second, Shaw moves away, letting Root be responsible for the scrambled eggs alone, while she grabs the pancake mix and another pan. 

“Hey, let me finish up with the eggs, and I’ll walk you through the pancakes, alright?” Shaw says, allowing them to switch spots at the oven. She stirs the eggs a little more, then turns the heat down on the eggs, and up on the other element. 

She leans against the counter then says, “Ok Root, what you gotta do is pour some of the batter onto the pan, let it make a circle about the size of your hand, all splayed out.”

“Not the only thing all splayed out today, I bet,” Root responds.

Rolling her eyes, Shaw continues, “Okay so watch it.”

“I’d rather watch you.” 

Root pouts. 

“Watch me doing what?

“Babe,” Root lowers her voice, “I would watch you do anything.”

“Oh?” Shaw goads her on. 

“You really did look hot last night, begging.”

“I did  _ not  _ beg,” Shaw growls.

Root sees the bubbles in the batter begin to pop, and takes the spatula and flips it expertly. Shaw doesn’t notice, too busy glaring up at her, trying to look intimidating. 

“Of course you didn’t, Sam. Saying  _ ‘Oh Root, please, please!’”  _ She imitates Shaw’s deep, breathy tone from the night before, “That’s extremely assertive, domme behaviour.”

Shaw glowers. Root lifts a pancake onto a spare plate and pours some fresh batter in to cook. 

“Really, sweetie. You know I like you that way. It’s not like I’m going to go around telling everyone that you’re a huge bottom or something. Even if I did, it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing. Root is certainly way more open about discussing things like that than herself.

As Root drops the subject, Shaw finally looks away from her, and back to the cooking, making to remind Root to watch out for the signs of needing flipping when she realizes that Root is working on the last of the batter. 

“Root,” Shaw growls again, “Were you lying about not knowing how to cook?”

Root’s eyes widen, almost as if she didn’t notice her own actions. 

“Uh,” she says, “I did say I wanted to learn eggs. I didn’t say anything about pancakes.”

“Were you trying to let me be in charge or something?” Shaw accuses, while Root smiles softly at her. 

“Maybe,” she flourishes her words with flipping a final pancake onto a plate, and moving around Shaw’s smaller frame to the small kitchen table on the other side of the counter. Shaw grumbles as she grabs the plate with the eggs and bacon, making two trips so that she could bring some glasses and juice for them as well. 

“You don’t have to…” Shaw begins with a mouthful of eggs and toast muffling her words, “You don’t have to make me feel in charge or anything. You didn’t, uh, make me do anything I didn’t  _ want _ to last night.”

Root nods, waiting for her to continue, knowing that Shaw doesn’t particularly  _ like  _ talking about feelings or anything. 

But instead of talking some more, Shaw just shovels more food into her mouth, signalling the end of the discussion. Root nods, showing her acknowledgment of her sharing, but not wanting to push her into talking about something she doesn’t want to. 

Root feels herself beaming at Shaw throughout the large breakfast, and for some reason, Shaw can’t help smiling in return. Root thinks it’s mostly because she has enough food in front of herself to feed an army, but maybe also a little because of Root. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind messages, we don't reply to all of you but please know that we scream about each one.  
> The next chapter will be posted Wednesday (1 Feb 2017) but that doesn't mean the story is over. We hope you guys have ideas that you'd like us to realize sometime. I, gravelyhumerus, for one, would love to illustrate your favourite scene from this fic if you ask me. We hope to eventually have a series of ficlets to post, so we'd like to hear what you'd like to see in it! Comment below or feel free to talk to us on tumblr [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/)!


	14. California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it friends. We are so happy that we had the chance to share this with all of you. This story kept growing and we knew if we didn't share it with you now, you'd never see it. We hope that you love this story as much as we do.

When they cross into California it’s early morning, the radio is playing a cheery pop ballad, and the car is full of conflicting emotions. On one hand, they’ve reached their destination! They’re here. They made it across the country! On the other hand, it’s almost over. After all this time it’s coming to the end and they’re not sure how to feel about that. 

Finch feels alive as he walks into the ocean, trailing Root and hearing Bear bark as Shaw dives right into the roaring waves. John laughs as Shaw splashes him, and Finch looks on, letting the water wash over his ankles. 

The sun shines down, warming their skin but he knows this is all over too soon. It hits them that every moment propels them towards the end. The end of their road trip? Yes. The end of this new and fantastic friendship? Possibly. And that is terrifying. 

Reese grabs his hands and Harold is then dragged into the water, feeling the soft sand between his toes, the fresh ocean breeze on his skin, and then suddenly, Reese’s hands lifting him up and onto his shoulders. Shaw does the same and suddenly they’re playing chicken in the wavy water, Root weakly pushing onto his shoulders gently dislodging him. He fights back and surprisingly Shaw loses balance and sends both she and Root falling into the salty water. 

Finch hears as well as feels John’s laughter, before the waves gently swallow him into their depths, briefly he sinks down before catching his feet on the ground and lifts himself up, gasping for breath. Reese smirks at him, earning a violent splash to the face. 

Shaw runs over the hot sand back to their truck, gathering some water guns that Finch honestly didn’t know existed, tossing one to each of them before declaring a war. Finch decides the best strategy is to stay in the ocean, because the water doesn’t feel as bad that way, but this backfires because he seems to be even slower there, due to the resistance from his swim shorts so he soon finds himself forfeiting to go to the car to collect more beach gear, including their picnic. 

As soon as he’s all set up, Shaw seems to notice that there’s food and comes racing over, skidding on the sand and sending it flying onto Harold’s carefully laid out blanket. He glares at her as she plops herself down and begins chomping down on the sandwiches and talking with her mouth open. Almost immediately, John and Root run over and do the same, with a little less crumbs from both of them.

As usual, Shaw eats the most, and finishes first, leaning back with a contented smile and fidgeting in her place for a minute as she licks her fingers. Root watches as she cleans her hands, curling her tongue around the digit with precision and intent, looking Root in the eye because Root knows what she’s trying to do. 

“What’s with your hair, Shaw?”

Shaw frowns and tugs on her hair, which have somehow escaped her normal ponytail. It’s wavy and messy, all tangled and grabbable, according to Root. 

“Looks like you’ve gone a few rounds,” John snickers.

“In battle or in bed?” Root says with a grin.

“Hopefully both,” Shaw grunts, running her fingers through her hair. 

“‘Fuck you’ certainly has a double entendre when coming from Shaw, and directed at you, doesn’t it?” Harold murmurs and raises his eyebrows. 

Hours of laying the sun and being covered from head to toe in sand (Shaw swears she will never step foot on a beach again if it meant sand in very unconventional places) takes it toll on the group and they decide to call it a day. 

Root lays out across the backseat, head in Shaw’s lap and feet dangling out the window. Harold has a brochure open in his lap and Shaw just stares out the window thinking of the future will hold for all of them. The sun starts to set off in the distance and became a depressing reminder that another day was escaping from their not-so-perfect wonderland. 

“One last adventure,” Shaw spoke up. “We need one more thing before this is all over, go to some horrible, cheesy place just to say we did. Let the night live on. Keep us together for one last night.”

 

//

 

That night, they sit on their seat in the Ferris wheel, knee to knee, feeling it sway under them. The lights dance across Roots face as she looks down at Shaw, her eyes wide and her lips parted. She looks warm to the touch in the cool, Californian nighttime air, her form swathed in Shaw's own hoodie. Root smiles as the ride grinds to a start propelling them slowly into the dark night air.  

Shaw fiddles with her ticket for a moment, before placing it into her wallet. She's never been sentimental before, but the way Root looks at her, that's something she wouldn't mind a memento for. 

Root shuffles forward, trapping Shaw's knees between her own and leaning forward. She presses her face onto Shaw's, their noses next to each other, their foreheads connecting. For a long moment they just touch each other, Shaw is relaxed enough because they are alone and Root takes advantage of that state, loving their simple skin to skin touch that she restrains herself from when among other people. 

Root pulls apart as soon as she feels Shaw getting squirmy, and replaces the touch with a quick peck on the lips before separating and turning away to look at the skyline stretching to her left. While Root looks at the ocean, Shaw looks at her. Something swells in Shaw's chest at how Root knew that she was feeling weird with the touch, and as soon as she did Root pulled apart. Just like that. No one has really knew her like Root does. 

She grabs Root's collar and tugs her closer. 

Root looks at her with a note of surprise in her expression, and Shaw pulls again. Root nods her assent and Shaw pulls her again, crashing their lips together. She opens up to Root's probing tongue, letting her mouth be taken by Root. She lets her tongue respond to Root, sliding against her, trying to give her in feelings what Shaw neglects in words. 

Shaw moves her hands from Root's collar to her hair, tangling them into the waves and pulling lightly, earning a light gasp right into her mouth. 

The wheel stops, right at the top, and once they pull apart they can see a spectacular view of the lights reflecting off the water. 

And suddenly, the sky explodes into a massive firework, sending a brilliant light into their eyes, and smacking them with the shockwave. 

"What day is it?" Root asks, "I didn't think it was a holiday."

"It's for us," Root announces and pulls Shaw close once more. "Of course."

"Of course," Shaw mutters as Root pulls her close once more and the Ferris wheel turns, rocking them and completing their ride.

“I can't believe it's over…” Root says. “We're in California and once we get home it's only days before we part ways. John’s going to enlist, Harold’s going to MIT, and-”

“Shh,” Shaw presses a finger to Root’s lips, “what we have here isn't going anywhere just because we're going to be far from each other. And besides,” Shaw smiles at her, “I still haven't been to the Empire State Building. I'm holding you to that.”

They laugh, and for the moment Root believes her. Maybe this isn't the end after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redflag / space-goose:
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, kudoed, or read this fic. Thank you so fucking much. This is the first long writing piece I've ever seen through to the end, and honestly I'm proud it was this; even if it took us a long time to get here, and I'm still anxious that it's finally all posted. But a big thank you to gravelyhumerus and villainousunsub for pulling this story together: villainousunsub for the bomb ass editing, and especially gravelyhumerus for keeping us on track, and just knocking this fic out. They're both really amazing people and I'm glad they helped write this; it wouldn't have happened without them.  
> villainousunsub:
> 
> After months of writing, editing, and rewriting I am glad to see it all paid off. This fic has been so much fun and a lot of heartbreak to write and I'm almost a little sad to see it ending, but hopefully we will do something afterwards together (either more to this one or something different). I love everyone who has read this, left kudos, and/or commented you have no idea what kind of high that gave all of us. 
> 
> gravelyhumerus: 
> 
> Honestly, this is my first coherent thing I've ever written. I never got to have my end of summer epic road trip, but in writing this fic, I feel like I did. I'd like to thank redflag/space-goose for being there to bounce my emo gay ideas off of, and coming up with amazing ideas of their own, and villianousunsub for making sure this story became as coherent and narratively sound as it is. They really made this story happen. Don't forget to follow them on tumblr for some good content, and check out more of villainousunsub's work on ao3.
> 
> // 
> 
> This is the last chapter but not the end. We hope to have a sequel of sorts, possibly a series of shorts that also take place in this universe. Send us prompts, and your ideas on our tumblrs [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/), we'd love to hear from you all. Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us on tumblr [@gravelyhumerus](http://gravelyhumerus.tumblr.com/) [@space-goose](http://space-goose.tumblr.com/) and [@villainousunsub ](http://villainousunsub.tumblr.com/)and tell us what you think! :-)


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